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archivehub · 5 months

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Title: Cash or Card

Summary: That pizza delivery worker, something about them looks so familiar…

I promise this is technically a Connverse short!! Lmao

Oh, and the prompt y'all voted on for the next short, "Steven and Connie thousands of years in the future," will probably definitely be the next short released. My idea for it is still kinda half-baked, and I may end up using an entirely different idea, though. After that one is released, I'll run another poll for the next prompt.

If you hate external links, the short can also be found below the cut:

That goddamned delivery worker…

Something about them looked so familiar, yet so damn unfamiliar…

Their hooked nose, frizzy hair, expressive eyes, enormous height...

Had they somehow met in a previous life?

No, that couldn't be possible… but he had to know them from somewhere, right...?

He took a seat on his dirty couch, sipping from a nearly expired beer bottle as he mentally thumbed through a list of over four decades worth of friends—okay, acquaintances.

Jimmy, no… Cody, no… Katherine, no… Jenny, no… Amber, no… Sabina, absolutely not…

He sighed before shoving a slice of piping hot, fish-covered pizza into his mouth.

Was this really what his life had come to, he thought: using his one day a week away from that damned car wash to lounge around his moldy apartment, cataloging his endless failed attempts at companionship?

Chugging down his remaining beer, he ran a greasy hand through his graying hair—wait, did he just feel a new bald spot?

He immediately shot up from the couch and threw his lunch into his cluttered, disorganized fridge before he could feel the brunt of his oncoming mid-life crisis.

Time to get some fresh air.

---

Beach City, or “Homeworld City” as the mayor had renamed it, had changed extraordinarily within the prior few decades. Construction of countless apartment buildings, railroads, museums, and even skyscrapers had commenced shortly after the merger with its neighboring town, Little Homeworld—did that place just spring up overnight or what?

Pacing down Universe Street, the city’s hottest new tourist spot, the man could discern a myriad of buildings which he could swear did not exist the week prior. Like, since when did the city feature a gourmet donut shop, a laser tag arena, or a goddamned bustling music venue? Back when he was a kid, Beach City’s raves were thrown exclusively in crumbling, abandoned buildings.

And since when did the city feature a colossal, extravagant library!?

“We gather here today for the grand opening of one of my most monumental passion projects of all time,” the mayor beamed into a microphone from atop the library’s front steps. Her towering husband, sporting a pink shirt with a strange cat design, stood right beside her, waving toward their swiftly accumulating crowd. “Thank you for coming, everyone! Without your support, I could never have even dreamed of making this happen.” Grinning ear-to-ear, the mayor paused for a moment as overwhelming applause filled the air. “I, uh,” she then began; everyone went silent, “won’t bore you all with a long, sappy speech, but… just know that reading has always been super important to me and my husband.” She grasped her spouse’s hand. “That’s why, many years ago, one of my first actions in office was requesting the construction of this… cathedral of knowledge: the Maheswaran-Universe Public Library!”

Another burst of applause filled the air, like thousands of fireworks exploding at once. The man covered his ears; his hearing was already damaged enough as is from the legion concerts he had attended in his youth.

“But without further ado,” the mayor smirked, throwing her ponytail over her shoulder, “let’s open this bad boy!” She tossed the microphone to her husband before letting out an ear-piercing whistle. Moments later, the city's mascot pink lion came bounding toward her with an intricate, pink and yellow sword held firmly in its jaws, which it subsequently dropped into her hands. With a brisk, almost incomprehensible movement of her blade, the mayor then slashed away a ribbon from the building’s front entrance.

As everyone practically trampled one another rushing through the newly opened library’s doors, all the man could do was stand in place, attention focused squarely on the mayor, her husband, and their damned pink lion…

He had somehow failed to realize it prior, but the three of them were just so incredibly familiar… He just knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that their paths had crossed before... but where?

Was it at a rave? A street race? Perhaps a party? Had they possibly even met on more than one occasion?

And why did the mayor and her husband bear a strange, vague resemblance to that goddamned delivery worker...?

The man's jaw dropped abruptly; moments later, he was booking it back to his apartment.

He needed to order another pizza!

---

“So, like… I don’t get it,” the man spoke, hands tucked away in his pockets. “Is this, like, your secret side job or whatever?”

“Uhm… excuse me, sir?” the delivery worker vocalized. In their hands sat a flat box featuring a Fish Stew Pizza logo.

The man snorted as he studied the worker’s face. “And why do you still seem so young? Shouldn’t you look, like, seventy or something by now?” He smirked, “Where’s all your wrinkles, dude?”

The worker blinked, mouth ajar. “I, uhm… ‘seem young’ because I’m sixteen, sir,” they muttered, trying their absolute best to avoid eye contact. “Will you be paying with cash or card?”

He rolled his eyes. “C’mon, not cool,” he remarked, leaning against his apartment door’s frame. “I just wanna know why our city’s leaders are running around delivering pizzas on a Sunday afternoon. Don’t you have, like, another library to be opening right now, Stevonnie?”

“S… Stevonnie…?” the worker murmured, brow furrowed. Moments later, their eyes shot wide open, revealing their pink, diamond-shaped pupils to the man for the first time. “Wait… wait a second…” they snorted.

The man quirked an eyebrow. “What’s so funny?”

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” the worker tittered, “it’s just… you’ve got me confused for someone else—my, uh, parents, to be exact.” They threw their dark brown, waist-length hair over their shoulder, revealing a small name tag. “You see, my name’s Grace. Uhm, Grace Maheswaran-Universe.”

The man’s eyes narrowed in on the badge’s small lettering. “So you’re, like…” he paused, meeting the teenager’s gaze, “Stevonnie’s kid!?”

“One of multiple,” the girl informed through a snicker. “I’ve got a brother and two sisters; I’m the oldest.” As she twirled a lock of hair around her thumb, she then remarked, “One of us was kinda bound to come out looking a bit like mom-dad—er, sorry, ‘Stevonnie’.”

The man blinked. He let out an extended exhale as he then sank to the floor, back pressed up against the door frame. “Sorry for the confusion, kid,” he sighed, yanking a crumpled wad of cash from his pocket. “This has been, uh…” he cringed, slapping a palm to his face, ”embarrassing for me.”

“Weirder things have happened on the job,” Grace shrugged as she knelt to pull the cash from the man’s fingers. She then placed his pizza at his feet. “But hey,” she started, meeting the man’s eyes, “if you want, I could pass on a message for you. I’m sure my parents would love to hear from an old friend.”

The man sharply inhaled through his teeth. “Just, uhm…” he murmured, “tell them I’m sorry,” he exhaled, diverting his eyes from the girl’s, “for, uh… everything…”

Grace nodded. “Will do, uhm…” she paused to glance at the receipt taped atop the pizza box, ”Kevin.”

#steven universe #connie maheswaran #connverse #fanfiction #su #steven quartz universe #steven x connie #connie x steven #su fanfiction #I wanna include another character tag here but it would be a spoiler RIP

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veenvss · 4 months

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dawn court

the family , 2/7

1 , autumn 3 , day

The courts have always fascinated me but while reading and looking at the map I always thought that the worldbuilding was too rushed or too simplistic. So, I have decided to reimagine the courts in a way that makes more sense to me. Who knows? I may end up using these in the future for a book of my own.

As I stated in my post about the Autumn Court, I'm doing these alphabetically. So, the next court for a family discussion is Dawn.

Not much is known about Dawn in general. They focus on tinkering, as seen with Nuan in ACOWAR, and it could also be taken that Dawn has one of the highest number of immigrants:

“No,” Beron said, frowning, “but where did she come from? Who are you?” The last bit directed at Nuan. “I am the daughter of two High Fae from Xian, who moved here to give their children a better life, if that is what you are demanding to know,” Nuan answered tightly. Helion demanded of Beron, “What does this have to do with anything?” Beron shrugged. “If her family is from Xian—which I’ll have you remember fought for the Loyalists—then whose interests does she serve?” Helion’s amber eyes flashed. Thesan cut in sharply, “I will have you remember, Beron, that my own mother hailed from Xian. And a large majority of my court did as well. Be careful what you say.”

With a quick google search, I found that Xian is just a 'unapostrophed' version of Xi'an, a big and historically influential city in China. Heard of the terracotta army? Guess which city.

So I'm taking it as Xian is some version of China, and even Nuan is a Chinese name. So Thesan is half Xian/Chinese. Now for the other half.

With another quick google search and a quick scan of a wiki article, I found that Thesan is an Etruscan name. The Etruscan civilisation is an ancient civilisation which ruled over an area of ancient Italy known as Etruria (modern day Tuscany), which was taken over by Rome in the Roman-Etruscan wars quite a few years ago. Thesan was an Etruscan goddess, the goddess of dawn, divination and childbirth, compared to Eos and Aurora.

So with those, I'm gonna say what I would name Thesan's parents, his Dawn father and his Xian mother, and their characterisations. Bare in mind that I am English and all of these names are found from probably not trustworthy sites with basic meanings of names. I will also be writing these names like you would in English, so surname last.

YAWEN ZHU- "elegant, cloud patterns" "vermillion red" A very quiet lady, she spent most of her time in the libraries of Dawn, reading and studying. She was incredibly well-educated and she often tutored in the universities, teaching politics and her native language to students. Outside of her hobbies, she spent her time with her husband and son, never able to have any other kids outside of her one. She taught her son her native language, and raised him to be as kind and forgiving as she was. Her and her husband were rarely able to be away from each other, dying together after their time was through, even though a mating bond was never sensed.

ESPLACE ROIG- "asklepios" "red" A family man, he was publically very loving towards his wife and son, unusual for many High Lords. He spent a lot of his time growing up as a healer. He was never meant to be High Lord, it was his brothers instead, yet a plague spread through his court, and his healing background saved him then, when he was young and able. As an older man, with an even sicker wife, he appreciated their time together well, until they left for the heavens together.

Now, the next group of people mentioned in the Dawn Court is the Peregryns.

The Peregryns are distantly related to Drakon’s Seraphim people and provide Thesan with a small aerial legion, Rhys said to me of the muscular, golden-armoured males and females gathered. The male on his left is his captain and lover. Indeed, the handsome male stood just a tad closer to his High Lord, one hand on the fine sword at his side.

So the Peregryns are similar to the Illyrians but also vastly different. They're closer to Drakon's Seraphims but are also highly respected, enough to be a captain and the lover of the High Lord.

Unfortunately, we learn nothing else about them. No names to give me a lead, nothing. So, I'm going to create some random history about Dawn. Due to the seeming closeness of the Peregryns and Fae in Dawn, their names is going to have gotten more mixed over time, and although there aren't many Etruscan-y languages still around, Etruria was in Italy, some I'm basing them on Romance languages. I chose Galician, as I took Spanish as GCSE and Galicia is in northern Spain.

XURXO PUGA- "earthworker" "thorn" He chooses not to talk in public, especially around people he is unsure of or dislikes. In private, you can never get him to shut up. He talks about anything and everything he can get anyone to listen to. When he's not training his army or protecting his high lord, he spends his time farming his own little vegetable patch. For an airborne creature with wings, he loves to spend his time digging in the earth, cooking treats for him and his lover to share looking at the glowing sunsets.

#acotar #dawn court #thesan #peregryn #acowar

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babybluebanshee · 2 years

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Night of the Living Things I’ve Had to Deal With As A City Librarian

Happy Halloween month, everybody! Time for the spookiest thing imaginable - insane patrons at the public library~

Warning: feces, sex pests, and evangelicals

- A transient family came into the library one Saturday and attempted to wash their five children in our bathroom sink. Julie caught them on the third kid and gently tried to steer them in the direction of our local homeless shelter instead, miraculously not screaming about the fact they’d gotten water and soap all over the floor that we were now going to have to mop up.

- Rachel found a shopping cart full of milk just...chilling on our sidewalk. I’m pretty sure no one ever claimed it.

- We have a kids’ craft station set up by the desk, and one little girl politely asked if we had any more pom poms. I went to the back and only found one bag, but brought them up anyway. When I told her it was the only one I could find, she asked why we didn’t buy more.

“That’s Bonnie’s job,” I replied. “She decides when we buy craft supplies. Can’t fight her on that.”

The little girl thought for a moment, before firmly saying, “I could.”

I told Bonnie she has a nemesis now and I thought she was going to die laughing.

- A lady came in with her small dog on a leash, and went into the shelves. By the time the library assistant noticed her, the lady already had a stack of books and was ready to check out. Amber asked if the dog was a service dog, and the lady said no, so Amber asked her not to bring the dog in again. Note we did not tell her she had to leave, merely not to bring the dog back. Lady huffs up to the desk like she’s been kicked out, only for it to be revealed she doesn’t have her library card on her.

“Why would I have it on me?” she asked. “I was on a walk.”

Welp, then no books. She huffs out of the building, then comes back an hour later, sans dog but with her card. As she’s checking out her books, she looks Rachel square in the face and 100% seriously says, “You should have seen my dog’s face when I told him we had to leave.”

- We recently started our family movie nights again. A little girl saw the sign for it and asked her mother if they could go, but the mom reminded her that she (the mom) was having surgery that day, and they wouldn’t be able to attend. The little girl turned to me and asked if we could please change the day of the movie so that she could see it after her mom’s surgery. She threw in an extra please, just for good measure. The mom and I fought so hard not to crack up.

- Something happened with our plumbing and for nearly three hours, our toilets were spewing water everywhere. The city maintenance guys spent another two hours cleaning it up. A woman was angry that she couldn’t use the bathroom, so one of the guys just opened the door leading down that hall (they’d shut it so people wouldn’t go down there), to let her see the damage. She looked like she’d seen active combat and did not complain again.

- We had another plumbing problem a few months later, this time just from the women’s bathroom. This time, the sewage was what was backing up in the hallway for several hours. Good lord, the smell.

- A woman came up to the desk and merely said, “The bathroom needs attention” before quickly walking out. The front desk was slammed, so that left only Julie to handle whatever she was talking about. Turns out the woman had what can only be described as explosive diarrhea absolutely all over the stall. All over the toilet, on the floor, and smeared on the walls. Julie spent hours cleaning it up until it finally looked like not a horrific crime scene. The next morning, the assistant director smelled something godawful, and - worried our plumbing was acting up again - went to the bathroom to investigate. The bathroom is dry as a bone, thank god, but she’s still smelling something foul. And then she realizes it’s coming from the small trash can where people put menstrual products. Gingerly, she opens it, and there’s a pair of underwear shoved in, absolutely covered in shit. Apparently the woman who’d decimated the bathroom the day before didn’t quite make it, shoved her ruined underwear in the can, and left totally commando.

- Banned books week came and went, and I went with a really simple display - a sign that said “books that should be banned” and a bunch of empty book stands (because no books should be banned and I think I’m clever), plus some infographics and bookmarks and reading lists and such. One lady looked at it pretty intently for a while, reading all the infographics carefully and perusing the lists, then finally came up to the desk and said, “I’m glad y’all are banning some books. They didn’t do that back in my day.” I was so stunned I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t think it was possible to miss the point that hard without actively trying to.

- Two women came in and asked if any of our computers had disc drives, because they had a disc with some pictures on it they needed to open and look at. I steered them towards the lab, and one of the women warned me to stay out once they got settled. The other lady immediately looked embarrassed and told her not to say that, but the woman was adamant that I “shouldn’t see that”. I had already gotten on to a guy for porn in the lab that day, so I was thinking I was going to have to do it again with these two. My exasperation must have been pretty evident on my face, because the woman who warned me I shouldn’t see the pictures immediately said, “They’re autopsy pictures.” I ended up having to help them anyway because they couldn’t figure out how to actually access the photos. When I tell you I put on my bravest face.

- Lori took a call from a guy wanting to know if we had any incest books. It’s not the weirdest thing anyone’s ever asked for if you can believe it, so she said yeah. Then he asks if there’s anywhere private he can read them. Poor Lori was still totally oblivious, but even I’m like yeah, okay, maybe that’s not something you want other people to see you reading about, it’s a sensitive subject. She mentioned we have study rooms, and he asks if we, specifically at the desk, would be able to see him. That’s where my alarm bells start going off, but Lori just kept blithely chugging along and told him yeah, we would, but there’s also spots by the fireplace. Finally, the dude asks, “So if I took it out, you wouldn’t be able to see me?” That’s when his meaning and his suddenly very noticeable heavy breathing become very evident to Lori and she hung up. Dude called twice more, and once he asked for incest books, we hung up on him.

- A woman came up to the desk with five books, slammed them down in front of Sherri, and said she’d like to file a complaint about them. According to this woman, her niece had read the books and was now in a mental hospital because the books had “opened a satanic portal”. Then she asked if she could buy them from us for the specific purpose of burning them herself. Sherri, obviously, told her no. We actually saw the niece a few weeks later, so I guess the trauma from the scary satanic books couldn’t have been too terrible. Resiliency of the young, ya know. Her grandmother did insist on looking through all her books to make sure, as she loudly said, “there’s no sexual situations in them”. Kid still managed to get two John Green books out, so I guess grandma isn’t as vigilant as auntie.

- Sherri found a pair of underwear laying on the men’s room floor. No other clothes. Just the underwear.

#woe to the librarian

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lemonseeds-blog · 1 year

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Vlad Journal | Prologue

"At the start of the night, he was as far as he could be without blatantly sitting elsewhere. But as we went on, it was as if we were pulled together, unconsciously. A force that we did little to fight against. The rest of the night…I’m not sure I could pen it here properly. (And perhaps should not?)"

This will be an in-character journal entry summarizing Vlad's thoughts from the latest episode of The Sanguine Society. You can find the public copy of this journal here, if you prefer google docs. This particular post is a bit longer than is usually to be expected, as it contains several entries; it is also mildly NSFW, though not all entries will be. If you like to listen to music while reading, I would recommend Elegie, Op. 24 for today's entry. I Hope you enjoy 🖤

Wednesday, April the 28th, 2023

I had kaffe und kuchen with Elenor today. She found me sitting in the greenhouse again, practicing for the show. She has been such a dear since I took residence here; accommodating my 'odd' hours and habits, with hardly a question. We chatted a bit, but my German is barely conversational these days. Shame I did not pick it up more, and leaving already. But it is nice to sit quietly as well. She says she enjoys my playing, and I enjoy her company. 3 decades has gone impossibly fast.

Friday, April the 30th, 2023

Louis Roederer Cristal Brut (2008) 1.5L

Colour: Amber, Sunlight

Fragrance: wonderfully golden fruit

Savour: Opens bright and fruity; pear and apple. A bit bitter on the end; floral, but pollen

Paired with Crème Brûlée: slightly too much fruit for the dish, but lovely to sip afterwards

Transcribe to wine notes⤴️

Sunday, April the 1st, 2023

Performance with the company has been going well; we will have our final show tomorrow. And my final altogether. I will greatly miss living here. The town is quiet. This apartment is quaint, but has only gotten finer over my stay. The people have been kind and allow me to keep to myself. I think I could stay here for quite a while longer without being bothered. But it is time. Adăpost Manor cannot sit absent and idle, it is a waste. I will be meeting with Reya after the show tomorrow, and perhaps get some updates on the community while catching up. It really will be so good to see her, it has been too long. Too long since many things. When I left Adăpost, I thought I might put it up for sale before returning, but I have found myself longing more and more. To perform in the music room and to have the smell of good food in the kitchens. To sit and read in the library and to tend to the arboretum. The place has had many lifetimes already, and it will be good to get back and find footing in a new cycle. It is not a home only for I, after all. 30 years of selfishness is enough.

Monday, April the 2nd, 2023

Aurelio was at the show tonight. Aurelio.

It was no accident of course, Reya must have planned this. Though I am not sure why. I had no words, and am still in lack. After 60 years, suddenly, Aurelio walks through my place of work. I don’t know that I ever gave much thought on what I would say, if he were to return. I would not have allowed myself to dwell there. And yet, here he is. And here am I, at a loss. He was polite, as always; asking about my colleagues and the city. Feigning interest, at the least. But he was nervous too, if I am not mistaken. In some ways it was just like we used to speak; joking, laughing, touching. And in other ways, he was more frightened than I have ever seen him. He has been traveling around Europe; backpacking and visiting family. He spoke often of loneliness, and longing for the familiar, so I offered to accompany him while he is in town. He surprised me with his enthusiasm, and then even more, with an invitation to the opera. A bold proposition, coming from him. But his excitement showed genuine, and after all this time, a night out could be refreshing. A date?

My coworkers invited us to a drink and we spent most of the night at Schlenkerla, and before I knew it, it was nearly sunrise. The rest of the lot turned in after the bar stopped serving, but I was not yet ready to watch him go. So I invited him to join me, and he agreed, even without knowing where I would take him. I showed him to the greenhouse.

His delight was apparent as soon as he saw the greenery and life growing over it.

"It's like a part of the old world reclaiming what has become modern" he says.

I had forgotten what it's like to see the world through his eyes. I feel I have been missing much. We sat and talked and waited for the sun to rise. He told me more about his family; how he has been tracing his blood lines and finding the ends. How he's gotten close to some of the younger ones, despite his eccentricities. And now he is unsure of where to go next. It seems like he has grown; the travel must be good for him. As the sky grew lighter, his face glowed with joy in telling me about the different generations he's met. His love has always made him beautiful. The sun coming through the leaves and on his skin and filling the colour of his eyes…I could almost let him burn to see his beauty in direct light. But he lives in chiaroscuro, and my heart aches all the more in the limbo. I feel that the opera will be difficult, I am not entirely sure what he expects from me. But I cannot let nerves stop me. I cannot miss this.

Friday, April the 5th, 2023

Yesterday was beyond words, but I will do my best. The opera was lovely. The champagne was delicious. And Aurelio, a beacon of light in all of it. He sent me a letter, penned in his own hand, though I did not receive it until nearly too late. I hardly had time to put together something to wear. He still dresses in his classic fine things, and wears them just as well as ever. I worried at first that I had overdressed, and that I would look quite the fool showing up at his place of stay in a tuxedo. But he knows me well, and suited for the occasion just as we used to. It was as if I had taken a step back through time, and this persisted for a good portion of the night. We shared looks, we laughed, we walked arm in arm and talked and talked. About the show and technology and travel and Vienna. I admitted to him that I will be returning. He seemed a bit excited at the concept, and said that he would like to visit. Apparently he has been searching for his sire, and thought he might be able to find more information at the Manor’s library. Perhaps he could have more casual visits, along with the research.

He apologized as well, for leaving all that time ago. Though I wish he hadn't. To see the pain I had caused him etched on his face and then take the blame for it all. I can hardly stand it. But he would not hear of my reasoning, and seemed nearly desperate to explain himself. The least I can do for him is listen and accept an apology. He said he couldn't imagine being enough; that he had never stopped to ask how I had felt. It never felt like we needed to. The fact that he suited me in a fashion that no other could, always felt so obvious. Until it was too late, I suppose. It was a bit of a relief though, to finally know. He says he was afraid, and so certain he would lose me, that he somehow ended up making sure of it.

“I had not felt the way that I felt with you for any one before, and that certainly frightened me”

My heart aches at the words, but I do not dare ask if he still feels this way. The reassurance of what once was, is enough. I brought him to the townhouse after the opera, to show him the stereo system and have some more conversation. Sat on the couch next to me, sipping wine and talking music, it was almost as if he had never left. At the start of the night, he was as far as he could be without blatantly sitting elsewhere. But as we went on, it was as if we were pulled together, unconsciously. A force that we did little to fight against. The rest of the night…I’m not sure I could pen it properly here. (And perhaps should not?)

“I don't want to waste anymore time”

My hand went to his cheek, without a thought. And our lips, meeting in a second. I am shocked for a moment, and look to his eyes to find a familiar fervor. He pulls at me, and the nostalgia washes over. The touch of cold marble, the smell of orange blossom. The look of his eyes, that of dark woods at dusk. My teeth at his neck, a taste of bitter iron; and a moan rising from his chest and vibrating in his throat under my lips. A groan that laments all the wasted time, and every second lost now between touches.

Waste no time.

My hands move faster than my thoughts, strict, leading; his fingers are gentle, pleading as ever. As always. On neck, on shoulders, on chest. Our movements and his song flowing and sliding ever down and down.

I can still hear it. And this letter he wrote, I trace the characters over and over to see the movement of his hand in the starts and stops of the ink. This letter that he penned and touched and surely fretted over, I can almost smell the orange blossom on it still. Perhaps I shall write him back; it would be my move at this point, no? I would not want him to think this was a single affair to me.

Saturday, April the 7th, 2023

He is not here. I had hoped to catch him for some coffee before I departed, but that may have been asking too much too soon. It was a fine evening, and we talked of many things, but perhaps that is all that he needed. A chat, a date, some closure. I was a fool for expecting more, really. One night with him again…It will have to be enough. I have so much to attended to at the Manor in any matter, it is long time tha

He’s here.

He came to me at the train station. He is coming with me to Vienna. He will stay in the Manor with me. I can hardly believe the words as I scribble them with him getting settled into the train car.

We're going back to Vienna.

#writing #journaling #roleplay #ttrpgs #lgbt ttrpg #the other Dracula daily #rollsrevamped #the sanguine society #Vladelio #LeeLuu Writes #Vlad Dracula #Vlad's Journal

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ozitrstudies · 3 months

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Academic Journal Entry 1

A Video Introduction to the APAJ of Dr. Kehhmáhil

[A video begins playing. It is set in an old-timey library with a fireplace roaring in the background. The walls are lined with wooden shelves, which themselves carry what very well might be thousands of books- paper books, at that. In the center of the screen sits a white, scaled creature with a face reminiscent of a dragon from human mythology. He has a slender build- his snout has a slight taper down to the nose, giving him a vaguely elegant appearance. Horns jut out from the back of the skull, angled back towards the spine. These horns are accompanied by small spines which start at the mid-forehead and grow larger as they move down the neck. His eyes are multi-colored, though are predominantly amber and brown. The tips of what look like fangs peek out from his lips, glistening when the firelight catches them right.]

Hello, there. [There was a brief pause, and the shuffling of papers off-screen.] I am Doctor Kehhmáhil Ji’ayú Današálo yice Torúņa, in accordance with the Özítr naming conventions- the abbreviation that you may use, though, is Kehhmáhil. Doctor Kehhmáhil, if you would please.

[Kehhmáhil’s voice is deep and rough. It is not difficult to understand, but it is clearly alien. By the expression on his face, it is evident that he is a little lost. There is a faint ping, and he looks to his side, presumably to another screen. His ear, vaguely reminiscent to that of a goat’s, has multiple golden piercings that clink together with the movement. Some matching rings on his left horn are visible as well. Kehhmáhil quietly grumbles before looking back to the camera, rolling his eyes before continuing.]

Following a lengthy vetting process, led by the Duchess Ayacíján and the Foundation of Özítr & Ökžálan Studies, my public academic journal- which you’re currently watching- has been approved. To any officials looking to validate these credentials, my certificate is hosted on the Foundation page for your convenience. If you don’t believe those for whatever reason, I implore you to reach out to Duchess Ayacíján and the rest of the approval committee. They’ll help you more than I can- or, really, more than I want to.

[Another pause. Kehhmáhil shuffles some papers offscreen once more before continuing.]

Right. Well. I should talk about myself, I suppose. I was born on Kethandris, and I am obviously a Kethandrid. When I was young- very young, much too young to be moving from one planet to another like I did- I ended up on Öz’vatizjúrúbye in the city of Tákarenti Jágaran. I remember Kethandris, and I remember enough of it to notice cultural differences. I am knowledgable in Özítr culture, but I am not yet inured to it- is anybody, really? [He pauses very briefly, then shakes his head to dismiss the thought.] That’s... beside the point. I have not lost the ability to… well, to see the traits that a native just couldn’t. Some could, I suppose. Not most. Nobody who counts, anyway.

[Kehhmáhil snorts, then continues.]

Ah, I shouldn’t say those kinds of things. This journal will study all aspects of Özítr culture and history, focusing in on the myths and misinformation that run rampant. I’m not going to claim that the Özítr have no flaws- I’ll highlight those, as well. That’s targeted at you, Ayacíján, I know you’re watching.

Anyway. [Kehhmáhil shifts in his seat.]

If you want to contact me to ask questions or harass me or just… talk to me, I guess- send me a message. My contact information is listed somewhere, you’ll find it. I’ll answer it on this journal as long as it is reasonable. I kindly ask that you remain as professional as you can, but I will answer anything that has merit- even if it is strange. I’ll also request that you use the standard message format. Do not bother contacting me using a cipher or a language other than Iniyalösg, Keþandriyösg, or Standard, because I won’t answer. You must be thinking that this is a strange thing to have to clarify, but this is a strange universe.

Just- send me a message if you have any requests for what you would like me to share next. [Kehhmáhil shrugs, and the faint tapping sound can be heard off-screen. It stops when he begins to speak once more.] There’s so much to share and so much more to learn, and I… I don’t know where to start. [He sheepishly grins before snapping back into a more professional expression.]

I will try to publish a few times a week, but these things take time- more likely than not, this journal will go through periods of inactivity before coming back to life. I will endeavor to include Özítr news in my commentary so I can connect the past to the present. However, this is not a political journal…

…though, perhaps it is. Özítr culture is inherently political. If I were to ask you to find me an Özítr that wasn’t involved in the political sphere- religious, social, or governmental- you wouldn’t be able to do it. I mean, they exist, of course they do, but they’re not your everyday Özítr. It would be like asking somebody to find a Kethandrid who doesn’t like freshly made cútúcawu! [He lets out a short exhale of breath before continuing.] I kid, but really, there is something to be said about the interweaving of politics into Özítr culture. Even in the fringe colonies! Why? The easy answer is just that it’s how they evolved, but I don’t think that’s it. I don’t think that’s it at all. To condense a long history into a few words-

[There is the sound of knocking at the door. A loud voice calls out, muffled by the thick walls. The unseen person speaks in a mixture of Kethandriyösg and Iniyalösg, with the occasional heavily accented standard word thrown in. The speaker sounds young, as well, though it is impossible to gauge a Sage age. Kehhmáhil sighs and looks over his shoulder.]

Hold on, anakca’iti.

[Kehhmáhil looks back to the screen and clicks his teeth together twice before speaking, his expression one of fond exasperation.]

I apologize. I have something to attend to- I’ll publish tomorrow. Maybe. Hopefully. We’ll see.

[Kehhmáhil reaches forward and clicks off the camera, but not before the person who had called out steps into the room. She is smaller than Kehhmáhil with white scales, though a black pattern is visible on her face. The video ends just as the unknown Kethandrid opens her mouth to speak.]

#alien rp #rp blog #in character #Ozitr #Ozitr Studies #Kehhmahil #daughterloredrop

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lexingtonplasticsurgeryky · 1 year

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The Best Things to Do in Lexington, Kentucky

Located in the state of Kentucky, Lexington is a city known for its thoroughbred racetracks, horse farms, and historic sites. This area is also home to the Kentucky Horse Park, which features the International Museum of the Horse. The city is also home to Lexington Cemetery, where 1800s politician Henry Clay is buried. The cemetery features a Romanesque gatehouse and an arboretum.

Mary Todd Lincoln House

Located in Lexington, Kentucky, the Mary Todd Lincoln House is one of the oldest structures in the city. It is a Federal style house dating from the early nineteenth century.

The house was purchased by the state in 1967. It is now operated by the Kentucky State Parks Department. The Mary Todd Lincoln House is open to the public Monday through Saturday. It has an impressive gift shop with items from the region. It is also partially wheelchair accessible.

The house is decorated with furnishings from the 19th century. There is a special children's tour of the house. Visitors can also play trivia games, compose Mary-inspired treats, and listen to period music played by violinist Brice Farrar.

Bluegrass BBQ Fest

Featuring a bevy of bluegrass musicians and a slew of barbecue contestants, the Bluegrass BBQ Fest is an annual event held in Lexington, North Carolina. The show, aptly named, is a two-day event that features the best of the best from the region's best barbecue spots.

The Bluegrass BBQ Fest, which runs on both Saturday and Sunday, is free to attend and is a fun day out for the whole family. There are dozens of food vendors setting up in and around the event, with the best ones invariably located by the main stage.

Gratz Park Historic District

Gratz Park is a historic neighborhood in Lexington, Kentucky. It is a neighborhood that is home to sixteen large historic homes and a city park. The historic district was added to the National Register of Historic Places in 1979. The neighborhood has a rich history, and many houses are open to the public.

Gratz Park was originally built as a lot for the early settlers of Lexington. It was also the location of the city's first public library. After the Civil War, the area fell into neglect.

Keeneland racecourse

Located in Lexington, KY, Keeneland racecourse is a famous thoroughbred racing facility. It is home to four annual auctions, which attract owners from all over the world.

Keeneland is a National Historic Landmark. The facility was created by a group of horsemen, including Jack Keene, Hal Price Headley, and Major Louie Beard. They wanted to improve the sport of Thoroughbred racing. They also wanted to establish a training center. The property that Keene purchased included a mile-and-a-furlong private racetrack and roadway, as well as land for future stables.

West Sixth Brewing

Whether you are a Lexington local or just visiting, West Sixth Brewing is a must. They're located at 501 W 6th St, Lexington KY and have a ton of different types of beer on tap, as well as a plethora of collaborations.

They have a cool, albeit small, barrel room, complete with floor-to-ceiling barrels, clay floor tiles, reclaimed wood accents, and a beer garden. The space is a great location for meetings, parties, or simply a nice relaxing beer.

They have a lot of different types of beer to choose from, including their flagship Amber, as well as seasonals, IPAs, and the Pennyrile Pale ale. They also have a cool little walk/run club, which is great for getting in some exercise.

Kentucky Straight High Rye Bourbon

Using a mashbill of 65% yellow corn, 30% rye, and 5% malted barley, Blue Run Kentucky Straight High Rye Bourbon has been aged in both Bardstown and Frankfort, Kentucky. It is a spirited bourbon, brimming with baking spices, stone fruit, and black pepper.

This bourbon was selected as a finalist at the 2021 San Francisco World Spirits Competition. It is bottled at 111 proof. The mashbill has a sweet aroma, with hints of brown sugar butter, vanilla bean, and ripe fig. It also has rustic notes of fresh cut hay from high rye.

Bluegrass Distillers

Located in Lexington, Kentucky, the Alltech Lexington Brewing and Distilling Company is a newer distillery that produces Town Branch Bourbon, Town Branch Rye Whiskey, Kentucky Bourbon Barrel Ale, and several others. They also produce a variety of gin, including their popular Town Branch Gin, which is made with Kentucky Bourbon. They are now also making a variety of corn whiskeys and spirits.

The Lexington Brewery and Distilling Company is located in a newly renovated distiller's house in Lexington, Kentucky. The distillery produces a variety of distilled spirits and offers guided tours. The company has plans to release several new products, including Lone Whisker Bourbon and Tanner's Curse Bourbon. It will also release a new wheat whiskey.

Plastic surgery in lexington ky can be costly. You'll want to be in good health before considering surgery. You should also be aware of the risks, including bleeding, infection, poor scarring, and more. You may want to ask your surgeon about revision surgery if complications arise.

The majority of breast augmentation Lexington KY patients are happy with their results. The procedure can help to make you feel more attractive, which will give you a boost of confidence. It's important to find a plastic surgeon who understands what you want from the procedure and who will be able to guide you towards the aesthetically pleasing results.

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#facelift lexington #neck lift lexington k #plastic surgery in lexington ky

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lambentplume · 2 years

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70% of the posts i rb Are amber city inspo i’ve been thinking abt them a lot lately,

#me pointing a greatsword at the twins: WILL YOU SURVIVE!#the twins (whose combat abilities got nerfed in recent patches despite me spinning their rep to their detriment): LITERALLY NO???#amber city public library #thinking about resin and preservation but also the rapidly shifting ocean #there HAS to be a sunken something somewhere. gotta pencil that in

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ginkgomoon · 3 years

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I Like You A Latte- Gavin ☕️

Happy blog birthday to @cheri-cheri. Another gift would like to present itself to you! 💙

“The exam is officially over,” you sigh.

All those years of studying and recurring late nights pouring the blood, sweat and tears for you push towards the finish line were all worth it.

You are now free.

Kind of… but not really.

For once, you were outside not catching the train to go university, heading off into another library or exam room. You had thought to savour this rare time to yourself before heading off to find a job. Thankfully, public transport is convenient enough to take you just about anywhere in Loveland City.

With only your phone, wallet and keys in hand, you stroll along the all too familiar building blocks near your home, pondering on where to go for the long awaited first day out by yourself. Should you go for some udon? Bingsoo? Pudding, perhaps?

While breathing in the sweet air of freedom, you admire the city that you grew up in, absorbing the view from down below and up at the infrastructure that the city was so renowned for.

The height, distance and those buildings haven't changed. But you- the stages of your life, experiences and perspectives have. The city almost seemed a little bit more… brighter. More alive. Or maybe… would it be for just this once?

This, you fear.

The glare of the sun continues beating down, its light reflecting off the glass buildings passing its judgement on the entire city. The heat is suffocating and you long for a cool drink or nice air-con to rely on to keep you sane.

A vision suddenly intrudes, presenting the clean pastel coloured store-front of the café that had just opened up nearby. You remember that you had power-walked right past the “WE ARE OPEN” sign on your way home from a past exam to prepare for the final one a few days ago.

You know you rarely enter any cafés at all, but your love for coffee and urge to explore someplace new begin to steer your legs into the walking direction of where you had remembered it to be.

As you soon reach the entrance, the sign you saw from the peripheral of your memory greets you.

“BRUNCH CAFE. WE ARE OPEN.”

You push open the heavy glass door, instantly entering a world of relief. Still in between the two opposing temperatures, you hastily swing the door back and encase yourself in paradise.

You take a moment to briefly scan your surroundings. The café, although it claims to be open, has everything but the barista. It wasn’t as big as the Starbucks down at the shopping centres, but it was humble enough for its size and able to fit all the requirements a café needs.

Soft instrumental music starts to reel you in further, like a siren hypnotising a sailor. You feel... peaceful. Though you wonder if you were hearing the non-diegetic music of the film occurring right in front of your eyes instead of your almost-dream café.

The minimalist designs, the ambience, and the extremely posh and elegant windows that you didn’t admire enough the first time strikes your appeal. You also confirm with yourself that this was the café that you would choose to break the cycle of drinking instant coffees everyday.

Just this once.

On the left side, those posh windows were flaunting on display, and to the right had little cubicles laid out perfect for providing spacious privacy. You marvel at what a genius idea the store owner had to create such a comforting and unique interior for a café. There was not a thing out of place.

Except of course, the barista.

You head over to where the cubicles were waiting and as you turn into the corner, you almost trip over something that looks like… a foot?

Following the coffee-stained sport shoes, your eyes slowly drift up on its owner, locking on a sleeping figure on the seats of the cubicle.

A young man with a soft aura.

You squint in confusion.

The poor cubicle clearly wasn’t big enough to fit his entire body. His hair seems to have fallen into place like dominos having slightly covering his eyelids, and appears to be breathing in a gentle rhythm with his chest following in sync. Your eyes also end up emphasising his jawline as you continue to stare.

His chest- wait.

A little badge on the right corner of his shirt immediately becomes the salient object.

So, he is the barista.

Barista… Gabin?

You lean closer at the words printed out on it.

No, it’s Ga-vin.

Apart from how attractive he looks, you question yourself- why is the barista sleeping during opening hours?

The man’s eyes slowly crack open, like a shell opening to display the pearl from inside, and you finally see his eyes of beautiful amber squinting back at you. Though, you can’t tell if it was because of the bright lights inside the cafe, or if he was solely observing you- and why you were so close to him at this very moment.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” you cry, instantly retracting from your forward-leaning position. Your brain tries to racks up reasons why you two were in this situation incase he asks.

“There was something on your face” or “your foot was in the way” could work. No- “sorry, I’ve never seen another human being before” sounds a lot more believable.

Gavin, the barista, furrows his eyebrows in confusion then seemingly in frustration.

Your body tenses.

It’s coming.

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep…” he sighs softly.

You do another quick scan and take that only the two of you were in the cafe now, unless there was another sleeping barista somewhere else you didn’t notice.

“If you're here for coffee, it’s on the house. An apology for what you saw just now…. Just don’t tell the boss if he’s here,” Gavin lightly coughs.

“Oh okay... Thank you. A latte please,” you say, rather not wanting to question it further. For now. But free coffee made by this gorgeous barista? How could anyone refuse this offer? All you did was stare. In that case, you would gladly do it again.

You settle your belongings on the table and catch Gavin rolling up his sleeves, putting on the display of his toned forearms. Luckily, your cubicle entrance was facing the direction of the workbench allowing yourself to watch him set up.

You start to wish for your coffee to be as hot as him.

Scalding hot.

Gavin steadily handles the jug and effortlessly pours the milk into the latte glass with the espresso already inside. Despite your sight of his expertise, he still can’t hide the subtle droopiness of his eyes and the slight furrow of his eyebrows again.

You figure it would be better if you come up to him instead so he wouldn’t have to travel the whole way to your cubicle with his current state being like this.

You gingerly make your way to his workbench while fumbling for a topic to break the awkward silence in your head.

“Is it just you working here today or…?” you ask.

“Is there another hot sleeping barista I should know about?” you continued in your head.

Gavin hands you the transparent cup accompanied by the saucer, a little spoon, a packet of sugar and a complimentary ginkgo-shaped cookie on the side.

The art displayed formed a symmetrical heart with perfect one centimetre foam to present the perfect latte.

“There’s the chef who’s actually the boss of this place but sometimes he dashes in and out. Especially when there’s no customers as of late. I have no idea where he goes, actually. Right now is no exception,” he replies, sweeping the remains of the coffee grounds into the knock box.

“And you do all the work for him? That doesn’t seem fair. Does he allow you to make your own cup of coffee at least?”

“Well, not exactly. I just work over-time till late. Plus, I think my body is practically immune to caffeine by now,” Gavin laughs.

"Me too," you comment.

As tired as he looks, he still has the energy to light up a smile, even with a stranger. His mouth forms an effortlessly handsome arc and you feel something emerging from within your heart, so subtle that you almost think that you could have mistaken yourself as the protagonist in a romance novel.

Though working overtime till late… at a brunch cafe?

You don’t question him any further. You take a whiff at the single delicate-looking plain ginkgo cookie and have a bite. This moment of peace and serenity was offering the much needed break from all that tension and pressure you were under- apart from Gavin being here, though he didn’t seem to mind your presence.

You lean forward to place your elbows on the counter and stare at the coffee in front, frowning a little at the reality of ruining the beautiful heart. You rip open the sugar and pour in half, then give it a stir with the spoon. The foam is perfectly silky and frothy, fusing with the crema like a starry galaxy.

You remind yourself that "it was okay" because this moment would forever remain in your own heart instead. Delicious, creamy arabica coffee.

Like those ginkgo leaves dancing in the wind that autumn day.

You smile at the memory before multiple begin to overlap with another. Ones where you had passed by the senior classrooms catching a glimpse of a boy staring out of the window or down in a random alleyway on your bicycle.

You didn’t think much of it back then either, but he had always looked familiar and seemed to be everywhere you were too. Crossing paths in hallways and even at the library, reading. That upperclassman boy named-

“-Gavin?”

He looks up.

“From school?”

You wonder why you hadn’t realised.

His facial features are now more defined, sharper, and still a head taller than you. Who would have thought the hot barista was actually an old schoolmate. You put your coffee down and internally scream.

“You remember me?” he softly asks.

“Just a little bit. Wait, do you know who I am?”

“Just a little bit.”

Gavin smiles.

You break eye contact and continue drinking, not wanting the coffee to get cold during this exchange. But even now it tastes different than before.

“So, what brings you here?” he asks.

“Taking a break before I find a job. See if any place will accept me…”

“Of course they will. You’re brilliant at what you do. I have no doubts that you will be successful.”

You smile in response, taking in the last of the remaining coffee.

“How do you know? We haven’t seen each other in so long. And I don’t think we’ve ever interacted this much in the past."

“I just do… Trust me.”

You look back up. His eyes light up with so much sincerity that could power a whole entire city’s electricity.

"I never thought I'd see you again," you say.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. You seemed like... you were just so difficult to figure out, especially for people like me who don't know you that well. So I never gave it a second thought either. And now here you are, making my coffee. Anyway, this is probably not making any sense..."

"No, I understand," Gavin states. "In your opinion... what kind of man am I?"

Before you could formulate a proper response, hot heat suddenly finds its way in, corroding with its cooler counterpart and signalling the entrance of another person.

Your eyes catch sight of a tall and handsome man, his aura so dominating that the heat you feel could just be from him instead.

“That’s the boss,” Gavin whispers.

The boss saunters his way in straight towards you two. His black hair matches his suit and tie, making him appear more like a CEO than of a chef.

“Don’t worry, I’m just going to the back to restock some things, I’ll be right back,” Gavin says, shooting you a comforting smile.

While trying to process all of this, your eyebrows are the ones to furrow now instead. How could this boss treat an employee like this? Working overtime without proper breaks? This to you was appalling and certainly see this as an act of injustice. Being the good and lawful citizen that you are, you decide to treat this like one.

“Excuse me.”

Before he enters the kitchen, he turns, offering his full attention to you. You thought you had a good grasp on what you wanted to say, but it seems that your head had disconnected from your voice box.

“Your employee…” you begin, “he seems very fatigued. I think you should be sharing the workload equally instead of leaving the cafe. Haven’t you ever heard of a collegial workplace before?”

His eyebrow lifts- in amusement, mockery or consideration, you don’t know. After all, your words carrying the “sense of justice” did sound a lot better in your head.

“I don’t interfere with anyone’s personal lives,” he said, his deep voice shattering your “prosecution”. But before you could have another go at him, he retreats into the kitchen.

Gavin returns with takeaway cups and lids and sees you standing flabbergasted at your interaction with the boss.

“You okay?”

You reply back with a little “humph” at the direction of the kitchen then turn to Gavin restocking the items on the cup warmer of the coffee machine.

"I-it’s nothing."

After all, this was your first and last time here, and maybe you shouldn't have acted so impulsively on a situation like this. Plus, how would Gavin react if you push the topic further?

You sigh. Hopefully the plan to have a drink and catch up with an old friend later in the night will settle the agitation you feel.

A soft ding is heard from your phone reminding you to get ready to leave.

Perfect timing.

As you reluctantly pack your things, you glance at Gavin’s way, who looks like he’s about to end his shift for the day as well.

You don’t want to be supporting a business owner who treats his employees like this, but yet seeing Gavin this way made you feel helpless. It’s a shame that you won’t see another handsome barista like this again. Or see him again. Or probably enter another cafe at all after this.

“I have to go.”

Your voice interrupts his workflow, and he frowns.

“Now?”

“I have somewhere to be, unfortunately.”

Gavin takes a moment to process this.

“Why don’t you wait till I leave? That way, I can see you off. It will only be a minute.”

More like a minute's time to sob about this man who could have been your boyfriend in a parallel universe. But as long as you won’t be late to meet up with your friend, you agree to wait for Gavin to finish up.

You linger by the entrance, not wanting to intrude his workspace again and steer clear from the awkwardness that could arise from watching him up close.

But after that literal minute, he steps outside with you and the heaviness in your heart starting to simmer back up again. The air already seems to have to cooled down, providing a thankful comfort to your surroundings.

Looking at him now, you almost change your mind. You could maybe see him again when you have time in the future. To... catch up.

Just maybe.

“Thank you for today," you say. You remind yourself to not get too attached, having really not know if you would be ready for all of that, especially for what was to come in the future.

You slowly walk backwards into the direction of your home, back where you need to get ready for the night out again.

“Thanks for coming. It was nice meeting you again,” he replies.

As you turn to leave, in your peripheral vision Gavin tracks forward to cover every step you took away from him, pulling a hesitant arm up to say something more.

But by then, you were already turning the corner and out of sight.

-And after all this time, your thoughts keep returning to those moments.

A couple of hours pass and your mind still orbits Gavin and that café. You wonder if there was something more you could have done or said. Hopefully he didn’t mistake your hurried steps for something else.

You soon arrive at the venue that you and your friend unanimously agreed on, though as you tippy-toe your way through the crowd to spot her, it seems that she hasn't arrived at the agreed time yet.

As you wait, you fiddle with the side of your dress. You decided to go with the classy minimalist look- a black dress and simple ginkgo drop earrings you bought recently. You didn't want to draw any attention to yourself, but you were satisfied that you were well-dressed enough to feel glamorous for the night. However, wanting to avoid the additional heat of the weather sticking on your body like a tattoo, you decide to head in first.

The music gradually becomes clearer and definitely louder as you weave your way through the hallway entrance towards the heart of the club, with the lights dimly lit and its walls enclosed for the darkness to rule.

You haven’t been in a place like this for so long, especially when you got used to the quiet and calm environment of libraries, the home, and the café earlier…

You could feel everyone’s body heat from a good healthy distance away, even at the seat of the bar. You don’t plan on getting drunk tonight, but you know your alcohol tolerance is so low that you figure it would be best if you should order a little fruity mocktail first instead then perhaps have a real drink with your friend when she arrives later.

You give a quick text notifying her of your location and place your phone back into your purse, ready to order.

Darkness continues to stir as you struggle to locate the bartender.

What kind of bartender is this person if they’re not at the bar?

Lights rotate and blind its way in every direction. For a fleeting second, it lands on the person across from you, illuminating those unforgettable eyes and smile of its owner.

His eyes are just as wide as yours.

"It's you."

The barista- no, bartender, was Gavin.

#I had so much fun with this one #happy birthday Cheri #I CANT WAIT FOR YOU TO READ THIS SIDISJSJS #3k words!!#THIS WAS THE SPECIAL POST I WAS TALKING ABOUT #mlqc #mr love queens choice #love and producer #恋与制作人 #gavin #mlqc gavin #mlqc fanfic #Gavin week

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optimistic-dinosaur-nacho · 3 years

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Ransom Drysdale x Reader (Dad!AU)

Summary: Ransom Drysdale, a man who didn’t make wise decisions in his teens. Wasting three years of his life in jail, he takes his freedom for another two. Little did he know, a woman he long ago had a thing for, ends up leaving him with a 16-year-old for the holidays. Hazel Rose Drysdale. His daughter.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

This takes place after Knives Out. Family will be mentioned, there will be minor spoilers for Knives Out.

Warnings: Bad parenting, swearing, Ransom being an asshole, minor spoilers for Knives Out, angst, mentions of murder/jail, minor mental abuse, mentions of abortion/pregnancy, Mentions of suicide

I do not consent to have my work hosted on any second party app or site. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but tumblr, it has been reposted without my permission.

There’s a Hamilton reference in here and I couldn’t help but throw it in there.

You always thought San Francisco was a horrible place to be on your own for. Having a job there, you’d be an hour late if you lived outside the city. This year had been tough on you. You felt like your rent was going up or that your job was getting lower paychecks. Your head was spinning every day that you could barely answer anyone’s questions. The lack of sleep you get every night, especially having to wake up every day at six.

You fix yourself a coffee but then end up at a nearby Starbucks to grab one. They always had better coffee for your energy gain. You weren’t really a money maker, you drove a very old red Honda. You have bills coming in through the mail slot that it has you wanting to burn them to ashes. You couldn’t handle enough stress, especially having a 16-year-old daughter.

At that age that’s when you had your only precious little girl, Hazel. You always made sure she never met any boy that could have her end up like you long ago. Being a teen mom wasn’t easy. Even lying to your daughter was something you couldn’t bear to keep from. It was only to protect her.

Hazel never spoke once about who her father was. As a child, she had dolls and those dolls were a family. One mother, one daughter and a father. Hazel made them the happiest dolls in her mind. She never asked anything related to her family’s relations or where they lived.

She was home schooled since, you were too afraid to have her at school and be bullied by boys or girls. It was something you dealt with and you didn’t want that to happen to her. You didn’t have the money for her too. Gas money, bills, dinner and rent were your only priorities. To have a roof over Hazel’s head, to drive her to the library or stores to get new outfits, feed her every morning, afternoon and night. Like you said, it wasn’t easy.

Your parents live up in Oregon for a while now and you would sometimes visit them over the holidays. Their reactions to your pregnancy, it didn’t end well. The few weeks of being pregnant, they were disappointed. The father’s side of the family had been one of the most entitled families in town. You grew up in Massachusetts and when you got pregnant, your parents moved to Oregon after you had Hazel.

And Hazel’s father abandoned you. Being 17 and 16, you were the one scared while he watched you in disgust and asked to abort your child. That decision was one of the hardest decisions of your life. Either live with the pain of delivering your baby girl or painfully lay on your bed thinking you could’ve had a good life with your daughter.

And you did have a good life whether you struggled to keep her happy. You hope no boy or man could ruin her reputation and lose hope in the world to make someone happy. “Miss L/N.” The dark velvet voice made you lose your trance and your eyes darted over to your boss. Or someone who is your guide for three years.

Mr. Charles Leyman. His blonde hair was combed to the side, his piercing blue eyes could have any office women get lost in. His suits were always made fine by a professional and his watches always came in different colors. Surely, they were over a thousand dollars. Charles had been your guide since you joined the large business in San Francisco. He was very kind, charming and he always knew personal space.

He always had a circle around him and it’d smell like his expensive cologne. Out of the cologne you’ve known, this one smelled like Guilty Intense. The Italian lemon, patchouli, amber, mandarin, and orange flower topping aroma was always attracting women. You wondered if he was a mama’s boy just on how much of a gentleman he was.

You saw his side grin creep up to his face, “You must be preoccupied in your own mind palace,” He mentioned towards you. Your hand reaches up to the small strand of hair and you pull it back. “Sorry.” Charles folds his hands in each other and leans on his desk. The man was in his thirties, a couple more years older than you.

“You know, you don’t always have to apologize for everything you do that is no harm. I just didn’t want you to be stuck in your head, Miss L/N.” Your head lifts up to him. He softly grins, “I wanted to discuss your recent report on the Berkeley College. Something about the Science and Technology Event on October 28th.”

You gently tilted your head, “What about it?” Charles lifted the print of the page and scanned through as if he wasn’t sure himself what the problem was. He clicks his tongue, “You kind of repeated yourself in a couple paragraphs. Even spelling errors. Have you been using-”

You nod, eyes closing slowly out of embarrassment, “Yes, I was. But I think our internet was shut off due to th-”

“That forum doesn’t need the internet to correct your mistakes. It corrects off Wi-Fi.” You sighed softly, turning your gaze away from him and he lowers the paper down to look at you, solemnly. “Look, Miss L/N. I’m not here to criticize you, I’m here to help you. And I know you have a 16-year-old at home and the father’s passing, you-”

“I will say this once and I hope you take it as it is. I’m fine.” Charles leans back a little to your response. Watching you closely to see your hands fidget in your lap. He almost felt like a brother to you, but there were moments where he offered you to dinner and almost walked you over to your car. It was embarrassing to see him and his silver Audi. You were sure he had a Tesla. The invites to his home were always nice. Charles knew your daughter well.

They got along well and never heard a single bad thing from Hazel, saying she had a good time with Charles. Hazel always told you how much fun she had with anything, she walks over to the public library, tells you about a book she read. You know she went to the library when she texted you earlier this morning.

That day, you relaxed at your desk and looked over the recent drafts of your future reports to go on the papers. You feel your phone ring and your hand picks it up from the desk.

Incoming call from Hazel-Bear

You picked up the phone and held it up to your ear, “Hey, baby.”

“Hey, mom. Can you pick me up?” You look over to the wall with the clock, showing the time. You were only a few ways away. “Can you wait for 10 minutes?” You hear Hazel hum in a yes, “Yeah. I’m just sitting in the library.” You began to close your computer and logged off. “Okay, honey. I’ll text you when I get there.” You started to put your papers in your bag and slipped in your laptop. “Okay. Bye, mom! Love you.”

“Love you, too. I’ll see you.”

Hazel was always the type to listen. As a child, she wasn’t spoiled as much because of what you had as a teenager. You were glad she didn’t end up like her father. She was sweet. Her smiles always made everyone welcomed in her space. Gatherings and meetings, your co-workers and friends always chatted about your daughter. Hazel would always keep a conversation lit up and she’d make every interesting comment. Being a book-worm, she would go on and on like a Stephen King book or become William Shakespeare and her words were strong.

You’d do anything for her, no matter what. Picking her up at the library was always a doing for you. The distance wasn’t long but you enjoyed picking her up there.

You pull up to the front of the library and see your daughter come up to the side of the door and jump in. “Thank you, mom,” She says, you greet her with a smile and watch her hold a book in her hand. “You’re welcome, honey. Did you return Hesse?”

Hazel nods and looks over to you, “Yeah. And I found this interesting book called Vulcan’s Den. Everyone’s been reading the author’s books since he died 5 years ago.” You glance over to her, seeing her eyes read the story in her hands. She looked like she was through 10 chapters already. “Hm. Who’s the author?”

“Harlan Thrombey.”

Your face froze into a fit of shock. Your fists twist around the wheel and Hazel spoke the whole time but then realized you had been temporarily deaf. “...he committed suicide.”

You look up to see the red light and you step on the break causing the car to jerk forward a bit. Your eyes lower to your hands on the wheel, “What, sweetheart?” Hazel turns and gently closes her book. “I said, he was found dead in his home. Committed suicide.” Hazel turns back to her book with a grin. “He was a really good author. I’ve been thinking about writing stories, too! He always knew how to make crime and mysteries such a good genre.”

Your eyes stare in front like you just ran over someone but all you could do is nod and say, “That’s... tragic, sweetheart. I’m sure he would’ve loved to hear your stories.” And your way back home was silent for the next 10 minutes. The only name coming to flood your mind like a banshee. Screaming internally, your heart felt like pin needles were jabbing into it and your breathing somewhat became more quite. As if you died in your seat but your mind kept going on.

Harlan Thrombey.

A man who writes like he’s running out of time.

That night, you had just made dinner and sat in the small living room watching television as usual. Glancing over to the kitchen sharing with the dining room, you see Hazel at the table, eating and reading the book she got today. You couldn’t help but grin at her read the book with such concentration.

You turn your gaze over to the TV but you didn’t pay mind to it. The sounds of your neighbors playing music or their dogs barking above you. Hazel closes her book and sighs softly. “Oh mom?” She asks, you turn to her, raising your brows up. “Hm?”

Her hand rests on the table as she turns her body towards you, “There’s this musical coming into Oakland in December and I was thinking we can get tickets? I don’t know if you’re familiar with Hamilton.” You tried not to give Hazel the look of ‘I’m sorry’, you just stared at her blankly, trying to sound less of a bad mother. Sure the tickets were a bit over 50 dollars. You couldn’t even nod as you sighed, “We’ll see, sweetheart.”

Hazel turns away and picks up her book to head over to her room and you tried not to think about Harlan.

Yes, he was familiar to you. A famous author who published hundreds of books based on mysteries and murder. You weren’t there when Harlan was killed. But you knew someone at work who actually wrote the report about him. Police finding out about not only his suicide but his oldest grandchild was in jail for murder and arson.

You didn’t know much but you’ve read the report so many times. Harlan was a good author and you were happy to see your daughter read a book from someone who was related to her. Hazel never knew much about her father’s side of the family. You tried your best to keep her silent about it and she never asked once.

You remembered you had things that could make her brighten up. You stood up from your spot and made your way into your bedroom. You walked over to your closet and turned on the light to look up. Seeing a dark box written ‘Books’ on the side, you reach up and slid it off the edge and into your arms. You placed it on your bed and reached in for the book collection with Harlan’s name printed on every book.

You opened one and saw a small message written in cursive with his name at the end. Harlan always gave you the first copy and made sure you gotten them. His books made it into films and he gave you the movies and that’s where these old films laid in. Hazel will like to watch these over and over. “Ro, baby,” You call out.

You hear her call back and made her search around the apartment and met you in the bedroom. You turned and sat on the edge of your bed. “You love books, right?” You asked. Hazel nods questionably, “Yeah?” You placed your hand on the edge of the box, “These are special and old. It might not sound real to you but these are all first copies.” Hazel makes her way over and slightly gasps.

“They’re... Harlan books?” She pulls them out and opens the first book, “And he signed them!” Hazel looks up to you with a smile. Shockingly, it made you smile, “I want you to take care of these really good for me, okay? You can take them to your room and read them.” Hazel slams herself into your chest and hugs you tightly.

“Thank you, mom.”

You wrap your arms around her and held her there, placing a kiss on her head. “I love you, too, sweetheart.” Hazel wasted no time into bringing the books into her room. Her eyes scanned every letter written in the books by the author, himself. He kept calling you, sweetheart. Hazel wondered if you knew him really well. You collected every book from him and they were all first copies. The films were never used and they were amazing. Hazel began to pull each of them out on her bed and reached for the last book that was wider than the others.

Hazel lifts it up and sees the cute designs.

Memories.

Hazel turns around to sit on her bed as her fingers graze over the small stickers that were worn out. She read your name on the front of the cover and flipped the page over. Photos of her grandparents, your mom and dad taking you out to the lake. A couple pictures of you reading books. Your 15th birthday photo was very old and you looked just like her. Hazel flipped the next pages and the photos gotten bigger. And the months grew further on.

Pictures of you in a dress. Your junior year in a blue silk dress, your hair was perfectly done with a bit of makeup. Hazel had not seen you so beautiful with makeup on. With a small grin, she flips the page and there’s a photo of you again at what looked like your prom dance. Her grin slowly freezes when she sees someone stand next to you with a small grin.

His hair was slick back, his tuxedo was a matching blue and his bow tie was black. His jaw was sharp enough to cut paper. Hazel knew you had her at the age of 16, the date takes back a few months before your birthday. Hazel had to think he was someone you were with. A picture of carved initials with a heart around them.

The ‘R’ was carved along with your initial and in between your initials was a plus sign. Hazel grew more into the photos and kept going over the pages. The next photos never had the boy in the photos any more. But you had your hands on your stomach with a grin. You had to be about one month pregnant. But the boy you had in the other photos never appeared in these.

Then you happened to be in Oregon. You said you were born in Oregon and lived there since you were born. Where were you before? Hazel flipped a couple more and her photos came into view. Her baby pictures were old and very nicely situated. Hazel grins softly at the photos and opened the last page to have things slip out.

Hazel catches the piece of paper and small patch from a high school logo. She looks over the patch that must’ve came from a private school. She flipped it over and read it.

Hugh D. MA, Boston

Hazel furrowed her brows at the name. Hugh must’ve been a different boy you dated. She reaches for the paper that was partially ripped in half and placed the two together like a puzzle.

Ransom (xxx) xxx - xxxx

She read the letter and saw the added heart to his name. Ransom. Who was Ransom and Hugh?

“Honey! Did you want to finish your show?” You called out to Hazel. The teenager puts the things back in the book and puts it back in the box. “Uh... Yeah! I’m coming!” And she covered it up with the others and made her way out of her room into the living room. Hazel couldn’t help but think about who her dad was.

The next morning, you made breakfast and Hazel began to eat what you’ve made. Bacon, eggs and some toast. You poured her some juice and began to clean up your mess on the counter and placed a couple dishes into the dish washer. The sounds of Hazel’s utensils scrapping against the plate, she glanced up at you and saw your calm content face doing normal chores.

“Who’s my dad?”

You drop a plate from your hands and it falls into the sink once again and shatters in pieces causing Hazel to painfully watch and you turn to her. It was bound to happen, but you didn’t expect it this soon. You did you? “What?”

Hazel nibbles on her bottom lip and gently puts her fork down and pulls her hand to her lap. “I... I want to know who dad was.” You cross your arms and reached to grab your grin and rub the sides. Hazel lowers her gaze, “I saw two names in this photo book. Hugh and Ransom. I want to know who they were. And did my father actually die in an accident?”

It was like your worst fear and the countless nightmares were coming to life. Hazel sat there for answers now. You needed to give her small details in order for her to freak out less. You never wanted to upset Hazel. Just like you didn’t want to upset her father when you first told him the news.

“But I knew Harlan very well. I met him as a kid and he gave almost every first copy of his books. I knew him because I met his oldest grandson at the age of 15. His name was Hugh.”

“So is Ransom my biological father? And Hugh was just-” Hazel noticed the shook of your head, your lips pierced together as if you tried not to spill everything towards her. The fear to see her get scared of the truth. “Those names are from one person, sweetheart. He was complicated between his first and middle name. Hugh Ransom Drysdale. He was just a year older than me.” Hazel turns her head and whispers.

“Hazel Rose Drysdale.”

You hum in response, furrowing your brows. “Is he alive?” She asked, you instantly stand up, pushing yourself off the counter, “Honey, please. Finish eating.”

“I want to know, mom. Don’t I get to say anything about him-?”

“Hazel, please. Eat your food, I’m not in the mood now to discuss your family relations-”

“You’ve lied and I need to know what else you’ve been keeping away from me.” You turn away from her and finished off the last Tupperware and sighed. It was gonna take a while for her to lose the thoughts to go away and have her continue on something else. “Mom-”

“Hazel, please! I can’t discuss this now!” You snapped. Hazel’s fingers curl into her palm and she fidgeted her thumb under them. Her feet kick herself back and she stood up. “Thank you for dinner,” she muttered, leaving her plate on the table while making her way into her room. You sighed out of regret and turned to the window.

You couldn’t tell if Hazel was crying or playing music to calm herself. You never outburst on her like that. Never in your days you’d shout at her. The mention of her father had to come out sooner or later. The truth never made its way over to you. Hazel wasn’t ready to find out. You weren’t ready to give it to her. Maybe never.

You just cleaned up her plate and put the leftovers in the fridge in case she wanted more since she barely ate thinking too much about her father.

You got a shower going and left the house, leaving a note on Hazel’s door. Your drive to work was a bit long but you managed to get there in time. Taking the elevator to the office floor, you set up your stuff on your desk and began to go through your recent reports.

Checking every wording and errors you can spot.

A soft knock hits your wall and a woman peaks over. Your office neighbor. “Morning, babes. How you doing?”

You let out a soft sigh, “Morning, Ciara.” Your fingers worked against the keyboard, writing away till someone takes your chair and spun you around. The red-head lightly glares in your eyes. You turn your head, “What?” You asked, Ciara squints her eyes. “What happened?” She replies with the same questionable tone. All you did was shake your head and Ciara pouts at you. She was never going to let you get away that easily.

“She knows about her dad?”

You nod towards her, raising your mug up to your lips to regain your energy. Ciara pinches her chin to be in a thinking stance and her brows bounce up, “Well, shit.” You look over to her and she lightly laughs. “What am I going to do?” You ask.

Ciara thinks, “Well... I don’t think you can keep her away forever.”

“What do you mean?” You ask once more, Ciara tilts her head at you and that made your heart drop. “No. No! I cannot do that-” Ciara drops her arms from the crossing and sighs. “Y/N, you really messed up the pooch here. If my mom lied about my dad being dead, I would’ve wanted to meet him.”

“You don’t know what he’s like,” You said, “He’s arrogant. A complete asshole-”

“Okay! Okay... but your daughter would have to at least get to know him. Give her a few days. Weeks. Who knows? Maybe he’ll come around. Hazel needs a father figure in her life and every kid would want to have their parents together.” You shook your head softly and raised your glass back up to your lips and took a large sip.

You wouldn’t trust Ransom being with Hazel for who knows how long. You couldn’t trust yourself to stay a day there. You wouldn’t last a minute to be in the same room with him. But you thought about Hazel. You felt more selfish for yourself than for Hazel. You had your dad but she never got to see him once. You kept him under a rock that Hazel couldn’t lift up and now she found his photo.

She found you and him together.

There can’t be a way to change her mind. Unless she stays with him. The holidays were coming up. Thanksgiving was only a few weeks away. Maybe you’d give her that much time with him. Ciara’s face leans down to look at you in the eye. For some kind of response for her to agree or to push.

Your mug lowers from your face and you two just shared looks.

That day, you made your way back home after your work was finished. You felt like you swallowed bees. You didn’t bother to text Hazel you were coming home or that you were going to talk to her. You just needed to be home right away to talk to her. To tell her everything.

You were afraid to give her everything about him. You needed to take it slow every now and then.

The moment you stepped into your apartment you dropped your bag and opened Hazel’s bedroom, seeing her on her bed with her laptop on her lap. “Hey, mom,” She says.

You grin softly, “Can I talk to you?” Hazel did not refuse and she watches you sit on the edge of her bed. Hazel knew this certain stance of a parent. “I know this morning was not my morning. But... I want you to know that I love you very much. And that I did not mean to yell. But I am willing... to tell you about your father. He didn’t die in an accident.”

Hazel closes her laptop and gently pulls her knees to cross in front of her. You did it yourself, crossing your leg over the other. “What do you want to know?” You ask in a calm voice. Hazel lowers her gaze to think about the millions of questions already scrambling through her head like a roller coaster.

She finally caught one, “What was dad like?” She says, shyly. This was the question you didn’t want to hear from her. But you had to anyway, “He was... difficult to work with in school. His family was rich and so anything he could do wouldn’t be a problem. He was kind in some moments, I remembered his father always fought with him.”

“Did he leave when... you were?”

Hazel noticed your soft nod and your head lowers, picking at your nails like you were a little girl again. How much you blushed when he came toward you like you saw him for the first time. The way he pulled a strand behind your ear. He never complimented much nor did he say ‘I love you’.

“We were around your age when I found out about you. After I told him, his parents flipped. And after a few days, he yelled and left. That’s when I moved to Oregon with your grandma and grandpa.” You reach for her hair and pushed it behind her ear. Just like he did to you.

Your hand rests on the sheets and you softly sighed. Regretting these words slip out like a load of cash falling out of an ATM. “If I trust you... to call me everyday, every night. I might consider something.”

“Consider what?” She asks, you don’t respond to her and that made her eyes slowly go wide. “To visit him?” You take her hand and gently grasped it. “I am sending you to Boston.”

“You can’t come?” She asked. You shook your head and reached up for her cheek. “I think it’s best to stay here and keep going to work. I have a project and I hate to leave you, but I really want you to call me. I love hearing your voice.” Hazel grins and nods. “Thank you, mom.”

You smile at her and pulled her to your chest. Placing a kiss on her forehead, you trusted her more now. The least of trust was from her father. The most scary thing to do was to call him. Hazel pulls away and she slips something into your hand. “What’s this?” You asked.

You opened the small note and read the similar number with his name written nicely in. “In case you didn’t have it.” You held the paper tight in your hand and turned to Hazel one last time before standing up. “Dinner will be ready in a couple minutes.” Hazel nods and went back to her own things as you left her room and went into yours.

You pulled out your phone and stared at the keypad. His number sitting on the paper, urging you to not call. 16 years apart, you never thought it’d come to this day. His daughter to stay with him for a while. What if he was still in jail? He could be with another woman and it’d be too late for Hazel to be with a man who’s married to another woman.

It’d be awkward.

Your thumb automatically pushes the numbers and your thumb hovers over the call button. Your breath began to get caught in your throat. Your eyes began to water and your fingers shook. You clicked the button and heard it buzz in your ear.

The ring went off.

You waited.

It rung again.

You swallowed hard. “Hello?”

“Hugh.”

“Who is this?”

“It’s me.”

“Who?”

“Y/N.”

There was a long pause.

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brooklynmuseum · 3 years

Photo

How would you describe the emotions of these men? What do you think they are thinking about? What does their body language communicate? What feelings do they evoke?

In this photograph, five men sit on the memorial to American writer William Cullen Bryant, located behind the New York Public Library. The year is 1953 and graffiti covers the pillars of Bryant’s grandiose stone monument. On the far left, two men sit beside each other and read their respective newspapers, while three men, who make up the foreground, sit patiently, looking as if they were placed by the photographer himself. The “main actors” are sunning themselves amidst the tainted columns and grime of the edifice in nearly the same pose: knees bent, feet placed firmly on the stone blocks, and their arms wrapped around their legs or tucked to their chest.

What do you think is the relationship between these men? I begin to contemplate how New Yorkers share space without ever communicating with each other. Although this image is a document of its time, in several ways, not much has changed. As New Yorkers, we can alienate ourselves even in the company of others. In a way, we’ve always wanted or at least tried to “socially distance;” to get some breathing room from dense trains, crowded sidewalks, and packed offices. Graffiti is no longer on the memorial, but graffiti is certainly still used to enshrine identity and voice political and societal dissent within the city. In seeing these men in their captured stillness and quaint idleness, I keep noticing small details- the words “Little Amber” written in cursive and in print, the newspaper the blonde man on the left is using to protect his suit and the cigar of the man diagonally above him. I start to wonder what the newspaper contained that day, what are those men reading about?

The composition of the photo tells us that the photographer shot the angle from the right side of the memorial, below the elevated base of the column. This gives viewers access to all the detailed expressions and acute comfortability the men were able to secure during a lunch break.

The men release themselves from the constrictions of their suit jackets, curl up their body, and doze off for a brief moment of privacy and isolation. Julia Van Haaften, once the curator of photographs at the NYPL, said it best: “They turn to each other as if following a director’s cues to look away until all seem to occupy separate metaphysical spheres, a choreography of urban psychic coordination between public and private space. This image also stands as a valid social document, with its midday suited men amid the vandalizing graffiti.”

The image, then, invites the viewer to witness a very personal moment. These men, dozing off or buried in their newspapers, with loose coats and vests, and arms crossed, managed to create a private bubble within a public space. A bubble, of course, that was popped once their image was taken, ironically enough.

The man behind the image is N. Jay Jaffee, a Brooklyn native who discovered his passion for photography upon his return from the second world war. As a veteran scarred by combat and disillusioned with the political climate upon his return (i.e the start of the Cold War), Jaffee used photography to rediscover the neighborhoods he grew up in and document the many facets of New York City and its inhabitants. “The photographs I made...they are of working people and their surroundings—people who lived ordinary, unglamorous lives. They were…a reflection of who I was. To photograph them was a way of ennobling their existence—and affirming my own. Using my camera helped me understand my roots and the times in which I lived,” said Jaffee in a personal essay.

In the same essay of reflection, Jaffee mentions that he was often asked whether he placed the men in their positions for the picture; his reply was always that they were “found art.”

Consequently, this photograph is an exemplary candid of New York City downtime; demonstrating how the ordinary can be captured extraordinarily with the right timing, tenderness, and technique.

What ordinary moments of NYC life do you think should be photographed? How do you find art in your life? If you or someone were to capture the essence of life in 2020, what elements would make it distinguishable for future generations?

Posted by Natalie Aguilar, Adult Learning Intern N. Jay Jaffee (American, 1921-1999). Bryant Park, ca. 1953. Gelatin silver photograph. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of the artist, 79.47.6. © artist or artist's estate

¿Cómo describirías las emociones de estos hombres? ¿Qué crees que están pensando? ¿Qué comunican a través de su lenguaje corporal? ¿Qué sentimientos evocan?

En esta fotografía, cinco hombres se sientan en el monumento al escritor estadounidense William Cullen Bryant, ubicado detrás de la Biblioteca Pública de Nueva York. Es el año 1953 y grafiti cubre los pilares del grandioso monumento de piedra de Bryant. En el extremo izquierdo, dos hombres se sientan uno al lado del otro y leen sus periódicos, mientras que tres hombres, que componen el primer plano, se sientan pacientemente, como si fueran colocados por el propio fotógrafo. Los “actores principales” se asolean en medio de las columnas manchadas y la mugre del edificio en casi el mismo pose: rodillas dobladas, pies apoyados firmemente en los bloques de piedra y sus brazos envolviendo sus piernas o pegados al pecho.

¿Cuál crees que es la relación entre estos hombres? Empiezo a contemplar cómo los neoyorquinos comparten espacio sin siquiera comunicarse entre sí. Aunque esta imagen es un documento de su tiempo, de varias formas, la vida de ciudad no ha cambiado mucho. Como neoyorquinos, podemos aislarnos aun en la compañía de otros. En cierto modo, siempre hemos querido o al menos, hemos intentado el "distanciamiento social" para tomar un descanso de los trenes densos, las aceras llenas de gente y las oficinas abarrotadas. El grafiti ya no está en el monumento, pero ciertamente todavía se usa para consagrar la identidad y expresar la disidencia política y social dentro de la ciudad. Al ver a estos hombres en su quietud y ociosidad, sigo notando pequeños detalles: las palabras "Little Amber" escritas en cursiva y en letra de impresa, el periódico que el hombre rubio de la izquierda usa para proteger su traje y el cigarro del hombre que está diagonalmente arriba de él. Empiezo a preguntarme qué contenía el periódico ese día, ¿sobre qué están leyendo esos hombres?

La composición de la foto nos dice que el fotógrafo tomó el ángulo desde el lado derecho del monumento, debajo de la base elevada de la columna. Esto les da a los espectadores acceso a todas las expresiones detalladas y la gran comodidad que los hombres pudieron obtener durante la hora del almuerzo. Los hombres se liberan de las constricciones de sus chaquetas de traje, se acurrucan y se adormecen por un breve momento de privacidad y aislamiento. Julia Van Haaften, una vez la curadora de fotografía de la Biblioteca Pública de Nueva York, lo dijo mejor: “Se miran como si siguieran las señales de un director para mirar hacia otro lado hasta que todos parecen ocupar distintas esferas metafísicas, una coreografía de coordinación psíquica urbana entre público y espacio privado. Esta imagen también se erige como un válido documento social, con sus hombres en traje de mediodía en medio del vandalismo del grafiti.”

La imagen, entonces, invita al espectador a presenciar un momento muy personal. Estos hombres, dormidos o enterrados en sus periódicos, con abrigos y chalecos desabrochados y con los brazos cruzados, lograron crear una burbuja privada dentro de un espacio público. Una burbuja, por supuesto, que estalló una vez que se tomó la imagen, irónicamente.

El hombre detrás de la imagen es N. Jay Jaffee, un nativo de Brooklyn que descubrió su pasión por la fotografía a su regreso de la Segunda Guerra Mundial. Como un veterano marcado por el combate y desilusionado con el clima político a su regreso (es decir, el comienzo de la Guerra Fría), Jaffee utilizó la fotografía para redescubrir los vecindarios en que creció y documentar las múltiples facetas de la ciudad de Nueva York y sus habitantes. “Las fotografías que hice ... son de gente trabajadora y su entorno, la gente que vivía una vida corriente y poco glamurosa. Eran ... un reflejo de quién era yo. Fotografiarlos era una forma de ennoblecer su existencia y afirmar la mía. Usar mi cámara me ayudó a comprender mis raíces y la época en la que viví,” dijo Jaffee en un ensayo personal.

En el mismo ensayo de reflexión, Jaffee menciona que a menudo se le preguntó si colocó a los hombres en sus posiciones para la imagen; su respuesta siempre fue que eran "arte encontrado". En consecuencia, esta fotografía es una sincera ejemplar del tiempo de inactividad de la ciudad de Nueva York; demostrando cómo lo ordinario se puede capturar extraordinariamente con el tiempo, la ternura y la técnica adecuada.

¿Qué momentos ordinarios de la vida de Nueva York cree que deberían ser fotografiados? ¿Cómo encuentras el arte en tu vida? Si usted o alguien capturara la esencia de la vida en 2020, ¿qué elementos la harían distinguible para las generaciones futuras?

#howtolook #bkmeducation #N. Jay Jaffee #photography #photographer #vintage #nyc #manhattan #bryant park #new yorkers #outdoors #public spaces

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faustandfurious · 3 years

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🥸

Not sure what that emoji is since neither my phone nor my computer want to display it as anything but a white box, so I’m really sorry if this doesn’t match the mood of the emoji, but here goes:

The oldest houses in Yerat were hewn into the mountainside over three thousand years ago by settlers from the north, according to the Keeper of the Tower of Stars. If you ask her, she will talk at great length about the carvings that were discovered on one of the ancient walls, showing a Wanderer trailing fire across the brow of the Watchman. She will tell you that the very same Wanderer has been observed only twice in the recorded history of the Great Library, once during the reign of the Her Most Exalted Highness the Lady of Desert Rain (may her name be kept in the Hidden Vaults until the end of time), when its appearance coincided with the death of the infamous Ninth Head Librarian, and once three hundred years ago at the rise and fall of the Hundred-Day Kingdom. The Keeper of the Tower of Stars knows the ebb and flow of the heavens, the paths of the celestial bodies. For millennia her predecessors have studied the night sky and charted its constellations, reading the history of mankind in its precise geometry.

The Keeper of the Vaults, if you ask him, will claim that the city is even older. The inscriptions found next to the carvings of the Wanderer are too etymologically dissimilar to the few surviving written sources from Shipel and the other lost city-states of the Yerai Delta and the Northern Coast, having more in common with languages still spoken by certain ethnic groups in the highlands of Laweya and Degiya.

To this the Keeper of the Tower of Stars will scoff and affectionately call the Keeper of the Vaults a grumpy old philologist, and the Keeper of the Vaults will equally affectionately call the Keeper of the Tower of Stars a star-gazing airhead, and the Keeper of the Tower of Stars will invite the Keeper of the Vaults into her office for a glass of prickly pear liquor.

Yerat is vast, a sprawling patchwork carpet of human settlement through which the Yerai curls like a giant serpent, gleaming silver at dawn and burning with the fire of sunset in the evening. Through war, drought and plague it has endured, grown and prospered, its Great Library transforming from a few archive buildings into a city-within-the-city, its twisting towers reaching for the sky and secret tunnels reaching deep underground.

Yerat, however, is more than the Great Library with its towers and courtyards, more than the Palace with its fountains and gardens, more than the remnants of bygone ages. Ask the Second Jewel Merchant of Hill Street about the history of the city, and he will talk of the Yerat Trading Company and its near-monopoly on trade up and down the Yerai, he will draw the caravan roads stretching eastward to Degiyat on the Coral Sea Coast and westward into the Amber Empire and the strange lands beyond. Ask the Royal Secretary of City Planning, and she will show you last year’s census, counting over two hundred and thirty thousand permanent residents and another twenty thousand registered foreigners living, working and trading in the city, and complain about a sewage system built over a century ago for a much smaller population and prone to blockages in the most inconvenient places at the most inconvenient times.

But if you are a traveller who has just stepped off the barge at the North Docks, your first guide to the city will be the grubby street urchin who for a copper coin or two will help you carry your bags and show you the way to a lodging house where the food is good, the beds clean, and the proprietress friendly enough to give your guttersnipe guide a hot meal as thanks for sending business her way.

The child’s name is Erit, though she will not tell you that. Names, you will soon learn, are sacred in Yerat, used solely between family members and close friends. Nobility and public officials are known by their titles, craftsmen and guild members by their profession and address, and the myriads of beggars and street urchins who live in the ever-changing City of Carpets where houses are little more than tents or makeshift cloth shelters, are simply addressed as “man”, “woman” or “child” on those rare occasions when the titled members of Yeratyan society find it necessary to acknowledge their existence.

#city asks #anonymous elf #answered #my writing #worldbuilding #yerat

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grcycosmcs · 2 years

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@irresistiibles traded an ( emoji ) for a personalized starter

though she’s aware that houses would definitely cost more than the six dollars that she has to her name , the blonde is currently seated at a public computer , searching through the listings online. she doesn’t bother looking at any of the prices , as she’s rather content simply browsing & looking at the pictures. none of them really stand out to her after all , so she’s not really concerned about their costs. that is , until she spots a lovely one-bedroom home that looks absolutely perfect & she needs to have it. not even realizing that the house would come unfurnished , she looks at the price , her eyes widening at the large number ( that she doesn’t realize is likely just around average for the city ). “ it’s how much ? ” she questions , appalled , definitely louder than she should considering the quiet atmosphere of the library. she turns to look at the person nearest to her , as if they’d have any answers for her. “ why is this so expensive ? how is paimon supposed to get that kind of money ? ”

- for amber ( & / or zhongli ).

#irresistiibles #with.amber

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vampiresuns · 4 years

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Anatole’s Family Tree

this is Anatole’s family tree down to it’s basics, and you can have some info about everyone under the cut. I apologise for the intersecting lines, but family colours will help distinguish Florentino and Matilda from the Radošević they married.

hexagon is for he/him, circle for she/her, rounded edges for they/them

Vitale Cassano

Aquarius sun, Scorpio moon, Capricorn rising, Leo Mercury, Scorpio Mars, do NOT fuck with this man.

Former Consul of Vesuvia, responsible for the biggest (to date) expansions in the Vesuvian public space, the reason why Vesuvia was an attractive, rich location with solid public funding which ended up going to hell with Lucio’s administration, but that’s another story.

If he knew that his hard work would go to hell like it did, he would’ve made a coup to change the course of history.

Fuck around and find out in human form. His entire energy is condensed in this post.

Had the art of delivering insults diplomatically down to an art, however. “You’re tacky and I hate you” would destroy a diplomatic relation; “I believe a less heterodox decision which might hold the weight of this agreement with less attached risk” doesn’t.

Friends with Dragoslav Radošević parents, as in those friends you call uncle when they’re not really related to you, but kind of are by default of closeness anyway. Befriended him because he was the most eccentric person in the room and he was bored.

Amparo Mediavilla

Is that even her actual family name? Who the hell are the Mediavilla? Where does her money come from? She says she’s from Karnassos but literally no one knows (she does, she just won’t tell). Has a brother named Seraphim Mediavilla, and that’s all you need to know.

Vitale was well aware she was probably a smuggler, but he likes her surprisingly present honour code anyway. Plus, she was fun, she was different, she was efficient. We stan.

She’s half the reason why the Cassano’s library in the Vesuvian Palazzo they inhabit in the Heart District is basically an open research centre for all of those travellers who seek knowledge. The Cassano have almost always have an open doors policy — the Consul acts in behalf of the people, and the people are allowed to go to the Consul. Amparo expanded and bettered that system, to the point it acted as Vesuvia’s public library and the biggest reason why the Palace didn’t quite have one — it was an understanding that it wasn’t needed. The only time the Consul’s Palazzo has been closed to the people of Vesuvia is during the plague.

Longest lashes ever seen in a person.

Somehow already knew the Radošević, they liked her honest opinions and her distaste for explaining herself.

Luciano “Lucenzo” Cassano

Vitale’s baby brother, they had a significant age difference.

Known later as ‘Great Uncle Lucenzo’, literally no one called him Luciano but Vitale when he wanted him to stop doing something stupid. Not that Lucenzo thought his ideas were stupid, after all, this man was an architect and patron of the arts, and Goldgrave’s favourite loose canon ball.

He was not allowed to set a foot in Firent. When you asked him why, he kept changing the story.

Met his wife at an orgy. Yes, you read that right.

Octavia Cassano

Sweet lady, do no harm, take no shit, appreciates a good laugh in life.

Met Lucenzo at an orgy. She made a joke, and the person she was focusing on didn’t find it funny, but Lucenzo did.

Came from another prominent Vesuvian family. Worked with her BIL, Vitale, in developing social policy plans and judicial reforms in Veusuvia. Which also went to hell. If she was alive today, Portia would be her favourite and would literally fight to have her work with her.

Greenest eyes this side of the straight of seals.

Agrippina & Iovanus Cassano

Amparo’s and Vitale’s children, Agrippina is two years older than Iovanus.

Agrippina stepped down from becoming the Consul out of personal preference. They were a scholar and proficient historian, very talented in the art of mixing a good drink as well. Closest to the Prakran intellectual circles and is one of the notable alumni of the Prakran University. One of her later acquaintances, Rosario Aster, would eventually become Anatole’s tutor in History and Politics before he went to university himself.

Agrippina partly worked as a diplomat attaché, wasn’t a full on freedom fighter simply because there wasn’t an uprising to be one in. If Vitale is the MO of the Cassano, Lucenzo their spark, and Amparo their zest, Agrippina is, surprisingly, their political compass. Agrippina and Lucio weren’t on the best terms, they were in awful terms actually. The Cassano and him are simply like oil and water, it just doesn’t mix.

Iovanus took after Vitale and became the Consul. He was less of a surprise stew than the father, though, and inevitably, his best focus became damage control.

His entire vibe is moomin going on a murderous rage and then holding back. He’s folding the knife. For now. Iovanus was a pain in the ass to have as a predecessor in the position of Consul because this man constantly had his patience tested and his city funds used in things he didn’t want to do. Responsible, along with Agrippina, with the current functioning of the Council of Vesuvia and it’s final opening before Anatole’s times. What that composition and functioning is, is something I might, one day, decide to write down, but not today for the sake of staying on topic.

They’re the closest thing to the “spirit” of a tribune of the plebs I can think of, without like, either of them ending up dead like the Gracci brothers.

Cassandra Cassano

Finally some fucking scientist/mathematician. Mathematician wife of Agrippina. Did some political economy, but that hadn’t been invented yet, mostly liked numbers for the sake of numbers and finding out what she could do with them.

Having in mind that when I say ‘Vesuvian’ I mean solely location and original seat, not ethnicity, comes from a Vesuvian Family which settled in Venterre. Studied in Zadith and Prakra, but met Agrippina during some diplomatic function.

She was someone else’s date, and Agrippina was working with Iovanus is some diplomatic relations, and Agrippina literally said they were happy and willing to stay to seal the negotiations if Cassandra would go out with them. Cassandra was bored off her skin, and said yes.

They married by the end of the year.

Valerian Cassano

Iovanus’ husband. Renaissance man in the humanities department, very savant, a virtuoso, but his true passion was the performing arts. Darling of Vesuvian opera and theatre.

Met Iovanus through Lucenzo (patron of the arts, remember?). Iovanus went to every single of his plays for a year, made some very light advances as a “fan”, until Valerian asked him what his deal was. Iovanus was disarmed by gorgeous light amber eyes and witty snark, having no option but to admit his feelings.

Cemented the Cassano-Radošević relationship with Goldgrave. Most of the family thought it healthy for a dose of ‘get of your high-horse’ check.

Hated the Colosseum with a black tar vitriol.

He was Elysian Radošević’s (Anatole’s great grandmother on the Radošević side) best friend.

Matilda Cassano & Krešmir Radošević

Here’s where the story gets a bit sad. Inherited all of the snark of Valerian, but wanted nothing to do with her family’s ventures.

They just didn’t click. She always thought her fathers were very dedicated men, but needed to let loose a little. She was here for a fun time, not a long time. Which was sadly, literal.

For the longest time, it was an understanding that her cousin Cassiopeia would inherit the consulship from Iovanus, which Matilda didn’t love. She didn’t want the Consulship, but thought she was entitled to it. She could be the Consul and Cassiopeia do the job.

Cassiopeia did not like the idea, specially because within the Cassano it’s an open rule that the title falls on whomever willingly wants to take the mantel, number one. Number two, it came with an awareness of your social position and what good you could do with it, having in mind you weren’t really necessary for society. Someone else could be the Consul, the people, if given a chance, would govern themselves. It’s part of the Cassano mythos that surrounds them that they’re a protective line between misused political power and the people of Vesuvia. So, no, Matilda shouldn’t be the Consul.

Honestly, did Iovanus and Valerian spoil her too much? They have no clue. They just think she might be wired that way, because she always disliked it.

She married the fourth of the equivalent generation of the Radošević siblings, Krešmir Radošević.

Krešmir was a bit of a loose shot, doing “useful” things because he had to, not because he wanted to, so they took to each other like fish to water. They both wanted to have fun, the problem was they wanted to have fun with no respect of the world around them. Krešmir had middle child syndrome, which became worse after his youngest sibling, Ilnya, died at 27.

They had two children: Vladislav Radošević and Valeriy “Valerius” Radoševic.

Sadly, they passed away when Vlad was 14 and Val 4. They went on a holiday, leaving the kids with Mircea Radošević (Krešmir older brother) and Florentino Cassano (Matilda’s cousin and Mircea’s husband), as Iovanus and Valerian were in no place (out of grief) to take care of the children, and Mircea and Florentino were their de facto care takers already.

Now, onto the Radošević, so mind you, we’re going back a couple of generations.

Dragoslav Radošević

PRIME recipient of the Radošević tradition of breeding polymaths/”renaissance people”. This man spoke 6 languages, knew astronomy, economy, mathematics, accountancy, a bit of law and a whole lot of history. Excellent chess player.

No one’s exactly sure what the hell he did, he did too many things. Some sort of diplomacy was clearly his most usual job. Big friends with Agrippina, Cassandra and Iovanus. Everyone thought he’d marry Agrippina but both of them dry heaved at the possibility.

He was a bit of a character though. Very conspicuous man with particular rituals. Taciturn man, too, but overall amicable.

Had a very long, stable marriage with Elysian, his wife. Survived the death of two of their children. The death of Ilnya hit Dragoslav more than anyone would expect, but he had a very “let me grief in private” stance. The key to understand a Radošević is that their mentality is “whatever happens to you, whatever life throws at you, you find a way to survive it.”

His is a family of eccentrics, inventors, patron of the arts, humanists and scientists; when he says his family, he means the Cassano too.

No rumour ever mattered to any of them, and Dragoslav & Elysian were a prime example of it. Theirs is a family of academics full of anxieties about the world surrounding them, whose sorrows were scars they rarely showed. Private yet with an extensive, and international, circle of acquaintances who deemed them all charmingly strange on their best days; prideful, analytic, often with a drink in hand.

Had a sister who had three partners, all of them women, too.

Elysian Radošević, nee Juriša

Wallachian by birth, first person in her family (aside from one aunt the Juriša did NOT speak about) to marry someone who wasn’t a Wallachian in a couple of generations. Not that she minded, everything I said about Drago, applies to Elysian.

She was a child of high society, bonded with Valerian, her best friend, out of their love for Operettas, though while Valerian went pro, she was an amateur — still, very good at it.

Excellent piano player, loved a well crafted, ingenious garden.

Beacon of the Radošević righteous rage. The Radošević are meant to be from a place called Balkovia, which is modelled after Yugoslavia, with many of the “bumps” in actual history colliding (A/N: Anatole is a latine-slav like me, for a reason). Elysian was the friend of artists and partisans, and had absolutely zero respect for certain kinds of leeches in political power. Zero national pride in this one, but at least, she came from a place were partisans stood (or used to) stand up to injustice.

In her dignified clothes with her amiable smile, she will bite ankles. Try her, you just try Elysian Radošević and she’ll remind you of all those people who ever said: They shall not pass.

Ambrozije Radošević

Diplomat, politician, eldest of Dragos and Ely’s children.

Inherited his father’s temperance but also had Elysian’s "Excuse Me, What The Fuck Is This Shit” attitude. Still, many times when he talked about his job, he had to stop his mother to go out and bite ankles.

Was the Radošević rage an answer against the grief of living and growing, against the cycle of dying and rebirth, and a cry of this is not enough, what I get is not enough? Maybe. Ambrozije liked to theorise about it.

Married Eloise Isaković and had two children: Kuzma and Lucija.

Best fencer of his generation.

Eloise Isaković

Didn’t take the Radošević surname solely to spite her family. She was disinherited for wanting to marry a Radošević. Her father said “if you want to marry then be a housewife for those freaks and I’ll take you out of University.”

The Radošević were like not in my fucking watch.

You bet Elysian and Dragoslav had words about that.

Percy Shelley, if Percy had been a woman, and also an anthropologist.

Will make femur jokes.

Kuzma & Lucija Radošević

Less in the centre of things than the rest of the family, out of virtue of “dear God, I get they’re my family but these people are fucking weird.”

The Addams energy was too much for them.

Kuzma is an alchemist and an inventor, moved to Zadith to study, never came back. He has two daughters and a wife, though.

Lucija became a diplomat for Balkovia, has a seat beyond the straight of seals. More traditional for diplomacy than Ambrozije by all means.

Very Dad please not now, but she does love the old man.

Married, never had children.

Neuma Radošević

Painter, a gay who can do maths, so that’ll have you knowing she’s stronger than you already. Perspective does not scare her.

Little does.

(Moths do, for some reason).

Claimed to have zero magical ability, but it was heavily disputed because how the hell did she paint like that.

Travelled a lot with her bohemian artist found family.

Never married.

Anatole loved watching her paint as a kid, she taught Valeriy to paint and about art as well. Big difference was Valeriy had a better hand for it than Anatole did, who literally can’t draw to save his skin.

Mircea’s favourite.

Mircea Radošević

Distinguished man, owns my heart.

“That was nOT POLITE”

Pretty level headed, has a big heart and a lot of will to help people. Just don’t be impolite, or he won’t like you.

Yes, he’s a libra.

An Architect, got to meet the other Architect in the family Lucenzo Cassano. That’s, in fact, how he met Florentino. Of course Lucenzo had an apprenticeship for Dragoslav son, but of course. The rest is history. Longest lasting marriage in both the Cassano and the Radošević tree by virtue of them gaving gotten together fairly young, and in the furture dying of a very, very old age.

He enjoyed travelling and the finer, beautiful things in life. If you want to equate his views to anyone in the real world, think about William Morris saying “I do not want art for a few; any more than education for a few; or freedom for a few.”

Aristically, somewhere between Gaudi and Morris.

Worked in several restoration projects both in Balkovia and Vesuvia.

Lived in Vesuvia on and off with Florentino and the children, which meant Vlad and Val were raised right between the vortex of everything that is the Cassano and the Radošević.

As polite and diplomatic that he is, he isn’t really a doormat, and if there’s anyone he would throw hands for it’s for his children (yes, he sees them as his children), and Anatole. Disrispect tha boy in front of him and he will throtle you and say you did it to yourself.

Florentino Cassano

Nicknamed Floren, Florence, Florens, Flolo, Tino, Tinino, Antonino.

Very responsible, big sense of family. Closest in personality to Vitale Cassano, his grandather.

Son of Agrippina and Cassandra, took after Cassandra’s love for numbers, but mixed it with Agrippina’s eye for politics and his Aunt Octavia’s knack for political economy (even if it had’t been invented yet).

Financier and investor worked in the public sector, ran the coffer of the Council of Vesuvia for a while, but quitted out of management differences with certain people in Court and up. Still very willing to help people of all backgrounds manage their assets though.

A bit of a hardass, when Matilda and Krešmir died he said of course they would, as it was very in the likes of them to get so lost in the moment and their ideal world where they had no earhtly responsibilities to forget they had two young sons.

Still, when Vlad and Val first called him “Dad” or “Father”, respectively, he kinda cried big tears. Freaked Vlad out because he thought he had done something wrong. Florentino was quick to tell him he hadn’t.

Ilnya Radošević & Blasio Abadzić

Ilnya was another one of those Radošević that you weren’t exactly sure what the hell was it that they did, because they seemed to have a lot of eggs in different baskets. Was an astronomer, though.

Strongest intuition/six senth in the Radošević. Another of those cases where it was definitely magic (Ilnya was clairvoyant) but they all passed it off as having another explanation.

Was the most joyful, had the most contagious laughter and the quickest, most wicked sense of humour.

I’m not entire sure how Blasio and them met, they haven’t told me yet, but it was one of those meetings which changes your life forever.

Blasio is equally irreverent, if not more. This one post of a man playing the guitar and an old man dancing to it is the exact vibe Blasio had (he’s the old man dancing, the man playing the guitar would be his grandson Milenko — who’s Anatole’s cousin however many times removed).

They lived in Vesuvia. Ilnya was a court scientist. The Cassano library has a try globe map that was their work with a court cartographer. It has a map of the region, of the world, and of the stars for navigation purposes.

Ilnya died of sepsis at the age of 27, going on 28. To this day, no one knows exactly what took them out.

After Ilnya died, the Cassano offered to take Blasio and their twins Atanasie (pronounced Ah-ta-na-SY) and Violeta in with them to ease of the expences of raising two kids as a single father. He accepted.

Blasio was a composer and dramaturg. He took it as a personal goal not to let the joy escape from his life after becoming a widower. Said carrying on with joy and irreverence was his job, as if to preserve his spouse’s legacy.

Vladislav Radošević

Whatever name theme you sense with him and his wife, don’t @ me about it!!! I remade this entire family on a whim, I will take my headcanons about other things and build from them.

Eldest of the V² brothers, if people had soulmate marks, his soulmate would be his brother. Vlad has always felt responsible for him and, unlike him, remembers much of how they parents actually were or how carelessly negligent they could be. His defence against grief was becoming taciturn and “distancing” himself from things. It didn’t always really work for him, but he sure did try.

Grew up with the mistaken feeling that the rest of their families were taking care of him and his brother as a favour. He eventually wrapped his head around the idea that it wasn’t a favour.

Called Mircea and Florentino “Father”/”Dad” for the first time when he was 16, never went back. It wasn’t like he didn’t spent a lot of time being brought up by them due to his own parents absences.

Taciturn, remarkably inventive and intelligent, has a bit of trouble coming out of his shell. Prefers to observe, then pounce. Other than this, his main personality trait is “I love my wife, I love my son.”

An alchemist, works in what would be closest to biochemical engineering.

Mircea and Florens discovered he would be very suited for that field because when he was a kid he kept designing buildings to show Mircea. They clearly showed he had not a predisposition to become an architect, but whatever weird, inexplicable mazes he created always came with solutions attached and clever mechanisms.

He’s a problem solver, he’s just shaking years of bad mental health habits of his shoulders.

A scorpio and a cat person. Has two cats with Louisa, Kiki and Keke (their actual names are Cyrila and Cecilia).

Yes, his brother is also a scorpio, yes his son is also a scorpio. They get along, however.

Met Louisa in some sort of medical-alchemy conference/symposium (whatever that would be aplicable to the time, what matters to me is that you get the idea). Louisa didn’t like his attitude, called him out, and Vlad simply blinked, apologised, and did better.

A second apology and further conversations ended up with them falling in love.

If Vlad knows what allowing himself to love and live feels like, it is because of Louisa and Anatole.

He gets pegged.

Speaks five languages and won a regional fencing championship when he was in his early 20s. Still thinks his brother is better at fencing than he is.

Louisa De Silva

Latin American, eldest of three sisters (Paris and Alma being the other two De Silva sisters). She emmigrated from her native country to a. study medicine b. because there was a Dictatorship at the time, and her parents suspected Louisa would not keep quiet enough to guarantee her safety.

She personally swore never to go back until there were no active traces of said dictatorship left in her country. Nothing, not even the war that eventually rose up in Balkovia has made her change her mind, and probably nothing will. Once she is set on what is right, she is set.

Met Vlad as mentioned above. She didn’t appreciate his initial “careful” cynicism, but also didn’t believe he was as insufferable as most people thought he was. Someone with attention to detail, determination and who prefers to stand back from social situations, who hasn’t actually done anything nefarious, offensive or in bad taste isn’t a bad person.

Once she paid him a visit and he opened the door shirtless because he thought it was his brother, and Louisa almost wheezed in front of him.

“I’m going to sleep with Radošević” “But you don’t have to?” “No, no, I’m gonna.”

Speaks five languages.

Speaking of the war I mentioned: there was a war in Balkovia which began little before Anatole was born, and therefore around 29 years before the events of the game. At the time, Vlad and Louisa were already together, and planning to move to Vesuvia. However, the war began, Vlad felt torn about leaving and not helping, not that he wanted to admit it, and Louisa said “well, I did not leave a country ridden with injustice to passively see war crimes being committed.” As soon as she could after Anatole was born she volunteered as a field doctor.

And she is good. “Louisa De Silva” would absolutely resonate in Nazali’s or Julian’s fellow doctor knowledge level of notoriously good.

Aquarius sun, Saggitarius moon, she’s active, independent, unconventional, friendly, very understanding and highly humanitarian. Louisa loves people and cannot stand injustice. Loves and craves learning and is very sincere. She can be a bit impulsive, but she’s good at coming back from it.

Much of Anatole’s sense of social duty and sometimes even social fight is due to Louisa.

Vlad and Val call her Lulu. Anatole always calls her Mamá. Always. It doesn’t matter what language he’s speaking, she is his Mamá.

Louisa De Silva, santa patrona del pueblo que lucha.

Often dragged Vlad and Val into some of her schemes. Val loves to complain about it, but he actually adores his SIL.

Valeriy “Valerius” Radošević of the Cassano of Vesuvia, former Consul of Vesuvia and Court Advisor.

Here is where I would like to clarify and remind the (very patient) reader that this is my own interpretation of Canon, and I’ve triedto build with it from what little we were told of this specific character, Vesuvian lore, and the story I wanted to tell. I tried to do my best with the interpretation of the character, but know you’re in no obligation to adhere to my ideas.

Some people can call him Val, namely, his parents, his nephew, his SIL and his brother. Literally anyone else he will bite your head.

Inherited his mother’s and his namesakes witty snark, even if it’s not always witty.

I have the personal hc that Lucio cannot, for the life of him, pronounce slavic names, so Valeriy became Valerius, though his family already called him Valerius because it was the one nickname he accepted.

However, for the most part, his family calls him Valeriy, in contrast to Vesuvian citizens, who call him Valerius.

Doesn’t remeber his parents, and doesn’t like to think about them. It is very tragic that they died, but they left him, and he has no time for people like that. His brother, however, had always been there. So have been Mircea and Florentino.

I’ve always hc he had one big love in his youth, but couldn’t actually stand the idea of an empty marriage based on status and decided to never marry.

Wasn’t always this high and mighty. He has always been a complicated man, with complicated tastes and even a snob, but he was raised in two multicultural families, based in two multicultural cities. What I personally hc happening here is that he truly hates his job. He does like the sense of status and the power that comes with it, but the responsibility? The state of things when he took over from Iovanus? The paperwork? The staleness of it all? And to do it for a city that ate itself up?

He would’ve given his cousin Cassiopeia his left arm to take the position for him, but in the end, he was subject of what he thought everyone expectations were. He feared more not being enough in the eyes of his grandfather, who did not want to repeat the same mistakes he did with Matilda, than saying “Nono Iovanus I actually hate this job with all my soul.”

But then again, the power attached to it.

I fully believe that if you had given Valerius a position that was, say, a cultural authority of sorts? Where he could focus on the arts, theatre, food and those sort of things? He would’ve thrived. The city would’ve been leagues away from where it was if he would’ve been allowed to solely focus on art.

Instead, he has to fix people’s problems, and he doesn’t want to. It isn’t that he doesn’t care in the slightest — he does, in the distant sense of people should not be dying left and right, and cities should be ran by competent Statespeople. Of course he believes that! He’s a Radošević and a Cassano of Vesuvia, who do you take him for. It was his family that 500 years ago stepped up into the position due to their sheer excellence, of course he believes that.

Just for the love of everything you deem holy, do not fucking leave that fixing to him. He’s begging you, and he doesn’t actually beg

(At least that’s what he says in public)

While he doesn’t quite like magic, or rather, doesn’t quite understand it and takes a lot of self proclaimed magicians as frauds (and an insult to good peope’s intelligence), he’s never had a judgamanetal attitude towards Anatole’s magical sensitivies. Most of what he sees about it is his inordinate aptitude for languages. He tends to take it as his nephew being simply Better, because if this man is something, that thing is proud.

He eases off after the events of the game where he can simply be a court advisor and give himself a chance. Not that it excuses or ammends any mistake that he committed, but it’s a place to start. He can do that, he thinks.

His was the decision to close during the Plague, and for the first time, the Palazzo the Cassano inhabit in the Heart District to the City.

His grandafther Valerian was (is) still alive while he’s the Consul, and tried to reach out to help him when he began to do deals with the Devil many times, but Valerius sucks at letting people help him. Officially worse than his brother at it.

He is, however, the best fencer in the family, and he is one of the best singers, he just doesn’t do any of both much in front of people. What he does when he’s at home is none of your business.

While I could feel pages of headcanons about this man, but I will try to stay on topic, and mostly address my previous post about the subject of Valerius’ and Anatole’s relationship, which, now that I’ve reworked the families into a story I do feel excited to tell most of it no longer applies.

The timeline is p much the same, both with Valerius, and with Anatole travelling with tutors to study and visiting whenever he could.

His feelings when Anatole dies stay the same. The difference is Anatole's family does know he dies when he stands as the Apprentice (normally, he doesn’t, he just stands as an Arcana OC). During the time of the plague, Vlad and Louisa travelled to Vesuvia to help, so they do know their son died.

What ends up breaking Val is not only losing his nephew (and again for what) but also seeing his brother and his SIL completely break. It was his job to protect him, and he didn't do it. He wasn’t enough.

I headcanon that when Anatole doesn’t die, one of his deals with the Devil is that no harm comes (from the Court) to Anatole. I also hc that for someone who has such pride in his intellect (which is there, he is pretty smart) he did rather unsuitable dealings with the Devil, by which I mean he dealt in really awful terms that he, himself, would’ve berated anyone else to have done out of their sheer idiocy of not fully using their leverage.

The main difference with the post is that Anatole and Valerius do not suffer their family anymore. The Radošević and the Cassano are opinionated and very "If something happens to one of us, it happens to all of us" but they're good, eccentric, people-leaning people, albeit wealthy. Hence, why I personally hc that what happens here is that he hates the job but loves the status, but the status carries the responsibility of people asking him for things, and he doesn’t want to be asked for things. He will be in his room if you need him, and please do not need him.

(In Anatole’s case, it's finding his place in the world. It’s a journey of diaspora and of becoming. To win, you must first know yourself)

Vlad and Louisa adore him to bits still, complicated as he is.

Anatole and Valerius do fight in some of the LI routes and during those three years before the game begins.

Everything else stands.

Atanasie and Violeta Radošević, and Aurora Radošević

Thank you with bearing with me so far, I love you.

Atanasie and Violeta are twins, cousins of Vlad and Valeriy, children of Ilnya and Blasio, the happy eccentric duo.

Grew up right amid the Radošević and the Cassano, and it really goddamn shows. They’re en aunt and uncle/counsins saying criptic things with a drink in hand, and you’re not entirely sure if they’re portetns of doom or not, but good for them!

Best violinists in the family though. Play the most instruments as well, as Blasio was a composer and multi-instrumentalist. Neither of them are professional musicians though.

Atanasie is a traveller and explorer, think of the eccentric explorer archetype without the Colonialism nor the grave robbing. Would, objectively, get along the best with Julian. He’s another of those people who knows a lot of things about different topics, but now like cursed/forbidden/borderline illegal things.

If Amparo Mediavilla had been alive to know him, she would’ve been really proud.

Violeta is a botanist and garden designer. The palace did ask her to work with them, but she went No ❤️. She, however, is responsible for the current design of the Palazzo’s winter garden, which in her biased yet correct opinion is the best room in it.

High femme eccentric queen, married Aurora who used to travel around with Atanasie. She’s an archeologist.

They have one son, Milenko, who is... an entire party.

Aelius Anatole Radoševic De Silva, of the Cassano of Vesuvia, former secretary of the Council of Vesuvia, and Consul of Vesuvia

Good ol’ Nana

Technically, that would be his entire ass title (which he correctly insists it’s a public office, not a nobiliary title, because a Consul is a public servant, and people just got mad with power for to long)

He hates it.

Please just call him Anatole, or Aelius if you’re not that daring.

I’m going to use this to talk a bit about Consul Anatole: along with Nadia, he introduced a series of social reforms, solidified them, and changed a lot of aspects of the way in which the City was run, in order to make corruption harder (Nana’s pride and joy are his Anti-Corruption directives) and to protect the reform on themsleves.

Adamantly against having a statue of him. Which was respected while he was alive, but a couple of generations down, they eventually built one, near the main square.

It points east, which is where the sun rises. It’s a metaphor for hope, and for Vesuvia to have the resilence to await for the dawn.

Milenko Radošević

His vibe is this picture of Javier Botet, meeting this meme, and the video of the old man and the younger man playing guitar, where he would be playing guitar. Oh, also, this picture of a guy floating in the Zadar floods of 2017, from this post. If this was a modern AU rest assured that WOULD be Milenko, and he doesn’t even live in Zadar.

When you see internet memes about how Slavs/people from the Adriatic are kind of weird, I want you to think of Milenko.

So yes, you would see him on a floatie down the canals of Vesuvia.

He’s a journalist and a writer, which has nothing to do with him being a character.

Tried to summon the Devil to show the Devil isn’t real. After the events of the game, if Anatole is involved in defeating the devil, he’s always offended he didn’t bring him along, he had points to prove.

Plays the guitar and the double bass.

Looks like an 80s goth, and we will not question how that’s mildly anachronistic. His favourite band would be The Cure. Also would have a soft spot for The Cranberries which he definitely took from Anatole.

When Belle and Sebastian wrote “colour my life with the chaos of trouble” in the Boy With The Arab Strap they were talking specifically about Milenko.

Chugs respect women juice harder than most people. If he chokes on it, then that’s how he dies.

Not allowed in several bars, has at least one sworn enemy in the Vesuvian nobility.

Him, Amparo Cassano (she’s down below) and Anatole are all in the same age range, and they’re a force to be reckon with.

Thank you for staying with me up to this point! We’re about to make another jump back. We’re following Lucenzo Cassano’s line now.

Atilia Cassano & Anzano Ventura

Atilia is the child of Lucenzo and Octavia. Closest thing to a community organiser. Need someone to organise a party? Atilia. A meeting? Atilia. To allocate human resources to enact some policy? Atilia.

Anzano is the son of two High Priests in Vesuvia from one of the temples in the Temple District, which is how they met Atilia.

Anzano doesn’t have a fixed profession, and takes things up according to their interests. Which are varied.

Cares more about their cat than they do about some people, both of them. Neither of them are the kind to wish ill on other people, but if ill falls on you as consequences of your actions, then that’s on you buddy.

Some of the things Anzano Ventura has said, without context: “My heart is green with hope.”

“Figure out what fortune has to hand you and spit twice in the face of the Gods.” It’s a saying from where they’re originally from. They’ve never properly explained what it means.

“These are not gentle waters we are sailing.” There is context for this one. They said this when the Plague began to surface in Vesuvia.

Atilia died a couple years before Anzano, who died of Plague.

This is how Anzano would’ve looked like in his early twenties.

Cassiopeia Cassano & Iris Ravella

If Valerius had not become the Consul, it would’ve fell on Cassiopeia. She was a Vesuvian diplomat and politician, member of the Council. Would’ve become the Consul anyway, but, respecting Iovanus’ wishes and trusting (correctly or not, it’s up to you) Valeriy’s potential, stepped aside.

Truly did not resent Matilda for harbouring peculiar feelings against her because Iovanus didn’t want to let her have the Consulship. Nor she did on Valeriy for his mistakes.

Iris comes from another prominent Vesuvian family. Theirs is a family of merchants, based in Centre City, who weren’t particularly thrilled about Iris marrying a Cassano.

Iris cared very little. They did it anyway.

Amparo Cassano

Last but not ever least.

Ballet dancer, fencer, deeply invested in politics. Amparo takes after the OG Amparo, her great aunt Amparo Mediavilla, in her daring, often without explanation ways, as she does in her honour code.

Sarcastic wit, a little bit petty. Would be one of those people who go “I licked it, so it’s mine.”

Takes up an interest in languages, as well as runes and tarot, though she’s not as good with languages as Anatole is. She says life gave him a magical advantage or otherwise she would’ve bested him. Anatole doesn’t doubt it.

Would climb to your window to impress you, with a sword to her hip. She’s that kind of bi.

Would definitely dance to Caramelldansen, and so would Milenko. Anatole would Not, but would look at Amparo dead in the eye and dance it when they’re alone, because he knows no one will believe her.

She calls him a ‘motherfucker’, to which he replies: “Do I LOOK like Oedipus to you.”

Loud mouthed, but with a good heart.

While her an Milenko are, technically, not actually related, they act like they are. They don’t care that’s not how it works.

Comrade Cassano? Comrade Cassano.

The world is her oyster and she’s about to slurp it.

Thank you so much for sticking with me to the end of this list. Means the world to me, as I’m happy to share the Radošević-Cassano with anyone who is willing to listen.

#aelius anatole #the radosevic-cassano #this? this is Deep Lore #i'm finally done holy shit

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